Attack on Paradise
by ThePro-LifeCatholic
Summary: Days at the Academy had to have been more exciting than just obtaining passable grades. There had to have been other adventures, like discovering the secret to perfect contentment. An artificial Paradise, even if it destroys humanity as we know it, is still worth keeping if it creates happiness in one's friends, right? Apparently not...if you happened to be a cadet named Kirk.
1. USS Storytime

**You know what _Star Trek_ should've had more of?**

 **Academy-Era.**

 **Just sayin'.**

 **I mean, come on; it's the forming of beautiful friendships, and there had to have been more crazy adventures than just meeting deadlines and passing with more than a "C".**

 **So...yeah. Ranting aside, though...**

 **This is my first attempt at an ST multi-chapter ficlet, so any constructive criticism is welcome.**

 **Also, a few pointers:**

 **1) This takes place during the crew's years in the Academy (well, not this first chapter, obviously. This is more just 'setting the scene' for the following story).**

 **2) This is my own incorporation of a TOS episode into the Reboot Universe. Obviously, with the new cast and the fact that it's during the Academy instead of their five-year-mission, there's going to be a lot of differences. But let's see if all y'all can figure out which episode the following events are going to be based on. :D**

 **Enjoy! And I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I know I did.**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

 **ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

It had been a slow morning on the USS Enterprise, preceded by a slow week and the outlook seemed to suggest that the morning was going to be followed up by another long, uneventful day.

James T. Kirk, the ship's brash young captain, squirmed uneasily in his chair. He and quiet were about as compatible as oil and water, and while he enjoyed these moments of temporary peace as much as any other crewmember, he now found himself itching for some form of activity. A planetary scan, a mishap in Engineering, _anything_. He spun the chair in a slow circle, taking inventory of the Bridge's current status for about the fiftieth time since his shift had begun.

Spock was sitting at his station, just as stoic and still as ever. He didn't turn or acknowledge his captain in any way; Kirk frowned disapprovingly at his first officer's back and redirected his attention to the helm. Sulu and Chekov were deeply involved in what appeared to be a rather intense conversation. A conversation that was quickly escalating beyond half-whispered exchanges.

" _Shut. Up. Sulu!"_ Chekov hissed. The ship's pilot – currently being told off by the young navigator - was hunched over his controls, his shoulders shaking slightly as he laughed as silently as possible. A few snorts and a chuckle escaped his lips.

"You were the one who asked," Sulu retorted after taking several seconds to regain his composure.

Jim's eyes darted back and forth between the two, following the unfolding conversation intently.

"Might I enquire as to what's going on, gentlemen?" he asked.

Chekov spun his chair 'round, an expression akin to horror plastered to his face.

" _Nozing,_ Sir!" he squawked, too quickly. Sulu's answer was to begin laughing again. Chekov aimed a fierce glare in the direction of the pilot, but his gaze slid to the captain's attentive, expecting expression.

James T. Kirk's curiosity had been piqued, and it was a well-known fact that, once roused, the captain's stubborn desire to sate said curiosity was not easily overcome. Sooner or later, the captain _would_ find the answers to his questions, or drive the rest of the ship insane with his constant and aggravating inquiries.

Like now, for instance.

Jim glanced from one man to the other, a million yet-unspoken questions passing from his expression and posture to his pilot and navigator. By now, though, the situation involved more than just the three individuals. Various Bridge members, having nothing else to do at the moment, were roped into the escalating scenario with various levels of enthusiasm, curiosity, and mild annoyance (with the exception of Mr. Spock, of course, who never let himself get involved in such trivial matters).

"Chekov started it," Sulu began again. Pavel continued to glare daggers into his shipmate's head, but Sulu pushed forward, bound and determined to drag the whole matter out into the light.

"We were talking about the different forms of exercise that we've both seen in the gym, and he asked me what I thought the most common Vulcan activities would be." He had to pause for a moment and compose himself once more. Chekov buried his head in his arms.

"I just told him what I thought!" Sulu spread his hands out in an innocent gesture. "I told him that Vulcans probably were great at the monkey bars…"

A quick grin lighted Jim's face at the mental image. No wonder Sulu had been laughing. He glanced in the direction of Spock's station, but the Vulcan had made no pretense of hearing the statements being thrown back-and-forth. Not yet, anyway.

"…And I said that Spock especially was an expert in tree-climbing," Sulu finished suddenly. His words dissolved into laughter; Chekov grumbled several muffled and exasperated-sounding statements into the yellow fabric of his sleeves.

Sure, the thought of Spock swinging from branch to branch like an overgrown, pointed-eared ape was hilarious in of itself, but Jim had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn't _just_ a passing remark in a conversation. There was something behind Sulu's statement.

And Jim was gonna find out what that was.

"Hey Spock." The captain swiveled his chair to face his First Officer. "Care to shed some light on whatever Sulu and Chekov are going on about?"

Spock wasn't facing the captain, but Jim knew the Vulcan well enough now to see clearly the little signs of tension. He was sitting completely erect, hands lying motionless on the surface of the PADD he had been holding and he was staring, unseeing, at the screen in front of his face.

Oh, that Vulcan knew something, alright.

Jim squirmed in his chair, the impatience and curiosity causing him to almost physically feel an itch crawl up his spine.

"C'mon, Spock," he whined. "I need to know. It can't be that bad, right?"

Sulu was quivering again; he shook his head and nearly choked in an attempt to begin talking. "It was horrible, Captain."

"Good luck getting Spock to tell you vhat happened," Chekov snipped.

Well, then. Jim leaned back in his chair and slowly turned to face the front window. So Spock was going to hold out? No problem. Kirk let his gaze rest on the back of Sulu's head. So far, he had been the most forthcoming out of the three, and if Jim was reading his actions correctly, the pilot _wanted_ to tell the story.

"Mr. Chekov? Mr. Sulu?"

Pavel shot a desperate look at Hikaru, whose response was a submissive shrug. A defeated realization crept over the navigator's face as his hands relaxed on the controls and he slid further into his chair. He cast a final glance in the direction of the Science Officer's station, but Spock had yet to move or say anything against the looming confession.

"Alright, Keptin. But you were warned."

Sulu leaned back in his chair, his gaze flitting over the starry night sky outside the glass pane.

"Believe it or not, Captain, it happened a while ago."

"How long ago?" Jim prompted. He felt another wriggle shoot up his back, but this was one of excitement, anticipation, and victory. Finally something to distract him from the monotonous stagnation of the past few days.

"It started in…" Sulu closed his eyes, as if this would help him better recall the details of his story. "I'd say the second year of Academy. That or the very beginning of the third year. Sound about right, Chekov?"

"I'd say so." Chekov nodded in confirmation.

Jim shifted in his chair, glanced at Spock. The Vulcan's head was tilted slightly; he was subtly paying attention to the unfolding tale with just as much interest as everyone else on the Bridge.

This was gonna be good.

* * *

 **Oh my goodness, everybuddies.**

 **Writing these people...it's great. They're all great. This whole story's gonna be great. I can feel it. *Now, if only I knew what was actually _going on_ in the rest of the story...***

 **Don't worry, ladies and gents. More to follow soon! The next chapter will launch into the characters telling the story from their respective perspectives, starting with the Mr. Plant-Infatuated Hikaru Sulu.**

 **And yes; there will be plenty of Bones. Don't worry. I'm not leaving him out. Being my favorite character, he's gonna get a lot of attention in later chapters.**


	2. Once Upon a Time (There Were Plants)

**I have no idea what day I published the first chapter, but I don't really care. I've had Ch. 2 sitting on my desktop for several days now, so I figured I'd just post that and get it out of the way.**

 **So now, just y'all know, we're moving into the actual story-telling phase.**

 **Regular words are the story. Italicized text is character commentary.**

 **I'll try and remember to put whose POV it is at the beginning of the chapters.**

 **It should also be pretty easy for you guys to know which episode this is based off of...I sort of wanted it to be a bit of a surprise, but I just couldn't write it that way.**

 ***shrugs***

 **I'm still happy with how it turned out.**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

 **\- ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

 **POV: Hikaru Sulu**

* * *

Half-days, Sulu knew, were one of those few Academy events from which both he and his roommate could derive enjoyment. It was a perfect combination of their favorite respective pastimes: Pavel Chekov and doing school, and Hikaru Sulu and not-doing-school.

What wasn't to love?

Sulu hummed snippets of songs to himself as he bent over a potted flower, examining its features under the florescent gleam of the laboratory lights.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"That was fast," Jim commented. "I was wondering how long it would take for plants to show up in the story."_

 _"All the greatest stories start with plants," Sulu asserted._

 _"Really?" the captain shook his head. "None of the books I've read involve a plant as a main character."_

 _"Then you've obviously never read a good book, Captain," Sulu returned without missing a beat. Chekov snickered._

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

Just to his left, a teenage boy with a mess of curls on his head was watching him intently, perched on the edge of the silver table with his legs dangling in the air.

"Don't you have class?" Sulu queried, not turning away from the plant. He had finished his own classes about a half-hour ago, but knowing Chekov, the kid probably had two or five more courses to complete before calling it a day. Heck, Sulu could easily imagine Chekov being the type of kid to sneak into _other people's_ classes, just for the sake of fulfilling his time-spent-solely-on-education quota.

"Yes, but just one more and not for twenty minutes." The response was delivered in a rather high-pitched voice, painted over with a heavy Russian accent.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"My woice isn't_ _ **zhat**_ _high-pitched," Chekov whined._

 _"Compared to every other male individual in the Academy, yeah it was."_

 _Pavel glared at Sulu, who simply shrugged before continuing._

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

"Vhat's so special about zhat flower, anyway?" While Chekov understood his roommate's rather vested interest in anything botany-related, there didn't seem to be anything particularly…stand-outish about this particular specimen. It was a flower in a pot of dirt. Sulu had removed it from one of the patches of greenery that dotted the campus grounds a few days ago, and it seemed that he had been spending a good deal of free time leaning over it, examining it from all angles and taking a ridiculous number of notes.

Instead of answering the question put to him, Sulu stepped back and glared at the plant as if it had just offended him in some manner. Then, bristling, he lashed out at the flower without warning. Chekov started back, nearly falling off the counter as Hikaru began hollering and waving his arms wildly.

The outburst was over as soon as it started. Sulu had regained his calm composure and now peered closely at the plant, the lab plunged into sudden silence.

A rather awkward silence, at that.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _Jim snorted._

 _Sulu paused and fixed his gaze on the captain, one eyebrow raised and an expression of aggravated annoyance radiating from his features._

 _"The more you interrupt, Captain, the less likely it seems that you actually_ _ **want**_ _to hear this story. I could just stop here, you know."_

 _"No, no," Jim was shaking his head, still smiling. "It's just…your biggest secret. You hate plants. They make you angry. No wonder you wanted to keep this story under wraps."_

 _Sulu sighed dramatically. Chekov bit back the oncoming attack of giggles that was working its way to his mouth._

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

"You know," he said nonchalantly, "Flowers don't produce spores."

Pavel blinked. What that had to do with the alarming emotional episode from a few seconds ago (his heartbeat was still racing: he could feel it pounding in his skull) he hadn't the faintest. But to his credit, he _did_ see why Sulu was suddenly paying so much attention to the flower.

It was _wilting._ Chekov could actually, physically observe the stem drooping forward, the petals closing up and a white, powdery substance dropping onto the tabletop.

If Pavel didn't know any better – and he didn't, 'cause after all, Hikaru was the plant expert here – he'd say that the flower was trying to _defend_ itself from Sulu's harsh words.

"Remember Professor Dwight?"

"You mean zhe professor who retired two weeks ago?"

"Yeah," Sulu nodded in affirmation. "That professor. Why'd she leave again? Something about needing 'peace of mind'?"

"Somezing like zhat," Chekov answered with an absent-minded shrug. He was much more interested in the strange activity produced by his roommate's specimen. "But vhat did Dwight haff to do wizh your plant?"

"It's not the plant, not specifically," Sulu clarified, turning to Chekov and motioning to the plant, "It's the spores currently inhabiting the plant that are causing it to react so strongly. At least, that's my opinion.

"Dwight," he continued, "has a niece who was part of the colonization effort of Omicron Ceti III some time ago. Three weeks ago, she received a years-old transmission from her, as well as a packet of spores collected from the planet's vegetation. Professor Dwight deposited the spores in some of the plants here on the campus for examination purposes. Before resigning, she turned them over to me. Figured I'd appreciate observing them and adding to her own discoveries."

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"Wait." Jim stirred suddenly, leaning forward. His brows were furrowed, a frown pulling at the ends of his mouth. "I thought the Omicron Ceti III colony had died. Something about harmful rays in the sun? Anyway, from what I know, we've never received any form of communication from them ever since they landed."_

 _"Well, obviously, that's not entirely true, Sir," Sulu responded. "But when I reported the entire incident to the Academy powers-that-be – who I'm assuming passed it onto the 'higher powers' of Starfleet command – I made certain to include the bit of information regarding Dwight and how she had gotten the spores in the first place."_

 _"Oh." Jim relaxed visibly and sank back into his chair. "We'll have to make a stop someday," he muttered absently, "See how they're doing."_

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

"So zee spores," Chekov watched as Sulu swept the powder into his hand and carefully transferred it to a test tube, "Zhey affect zhe flowers? How many did she have?"

"Only three flowers total," Sulu responded. "I'm on my way to get the last two now. Then it's off to the Science Department to drop off these samples," he shook the capped tube. "I have a professor who's willing to help me with further experimentation." Sulu glanced at the clock in the back of the lab and quirked an eyebrow before turning to his roommate.

"Don't you have class?"

Chekov's eyes widened. He wheeled, took one look at the clock, and scooted off the table, feet hitting the floor with a _*thunk*_.

"Zhanks, Sulu!" He grabbed his book carrier (basically a box with wheels and an extendable handle) and dashed out the door. Its wheels _click-clacked_ down the hall, growing fainter as Chekov ran for his class like his life depended on it.

Hikaru sighed and shook his head. He gathered up his own supplies – the spore-filled tube and his PADD – and headed for the exit. The sight of a small silver device made him pause in the doorway. He picked it up, peering closely at the cylindrical object. He didn't know _what_ it was, but he figured that, if anyone had left it here, they'd probably be around eventually to pick it up.

Setting it back on the table, Hikaru gave the room a final once-over before ducking out the swinging door. He left it unlocked and the lights on: he'd be back soon enough with the other two plants.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"That sounded…like a really stupid decision. A really lazy, really stupid decision."_

 _Sulu shrugged. "Not much I can do about that now, Captain."_

 _"You just left the plant sitting out?!" Jim exclaimed incredulously. "A plant with weird, unpredictable spore-thingies that you knew next-to-nothing about?"_

 _"Yeah. That's what I did. I just finished explaining that part, in case you weren't listening."_

 _"OK," Jim waved his hand dismissively in Sulu's direction. "What happened next?"_

 _"Well…" Hikaru sent a look Chekov's way. "This is where someone else would have to pick up. I got the plants from where I had left them last – I had already unearthed them and they were sitting next to the sidewalk – and headed back to the lab to pot them."_

 _"You left some of them just_ _ **sitting**_ _on the_ _ **sidewalk**_ _, too?" Jim threw his hands into the air. "Where literally_ _ **anyone**_ _could walk by and…and…" Kirk paused, his arms still raised above his head. His eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. "...Did the spores actually do anything?"_

 _"Based on Mr. Sulu's most recent statement," a new voice stated crisply, "He would be unable to answer your inquiry, Captain, seeing as he was not present to observe the set of circumstances that surrounded the flowers he had left by the sidewalk."_

 _Jim spun his chair in a half-circle, hands dropping to the arms of his captain's seat. Behind him, Sulu and Chekov were eyeing the Science Officer's station with expressions of disbelief._

 _Spock stared back at them, his own countenance blank. One eyebrow was raised, ever so slightly; his hands rested on his lap._

 _"It is only logical," he continued smoothly, ignoring the incredulous (and hopefully expectant) looks he was getting, "that, in order to proceed with the story, we begin where Mr. Sulu left off. Namely, the events that transpired regarding his unattended plants."_

 _"And…you would know what those events were?" Kirk prompted. Spock fixed his gaze on the captain's face._

 _"I was directly involved in the unfolding scenarios, Captain," he responded. There was a brief pause. "The walkway to which Mr. Sulu is referring to is one of the few paths which I myself used on a regular basis. Unsuspecting of any recent…complications, I employed this particular path on that day -"_

 _Spock was interrupted by the lift doors swishing open. They revealed a flash of red, a pair of tall black boots, dark skin, and perfectly arranged hair bound up in a tight ponytail._

 _Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, communications expert, had arrived on the Bridge for her shift._

 _And Jim Kirk, with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, suspected that the story-telling session had suddenly reached its inglorious and (very) poorly-timed conclusion._

* * *

 **Nyota won't stand people making fun of her awesome boyfriend. She's gonna get all protective now and poor Jimmy-boy will never hear the end of the story.**

 **Think y'all can guess the episode now? It's pretty obvious by now...**


	3. Unexpected Involvment

**Thanks for the reviews and such, peoples. While I'm going to be finishing this story regardless of whether or not I get a boatload of comments, follows, and/or favs, they certainly help and make the writing process all that much more enjoyable. So many thanks to y'all!**

 **And here we pause your usual story-telling session to bring you...annoyed Nyota Uhura!**

 **Don't worry; the story picks back up in the next chapter, and as you'll see from this one, we're gonna be faced with a few more tale-tellers than you might have previously thought.**

 **But I won't keep you waiting. Let's continue, shall we?**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

 **\- ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

 **I guess I should make a disclaimer of sorts, too. I don't own _Star Trek_ , either the original series or the reboot. I don't own its characters or affiliations. I'm simply taking an already-awesome concept and doing my best to give it some reboot justice.**

* * *

Nyota took a sweeping scan of the Bridge once she stepped from the lift. The expressions she was faced with (no pun intended) – namely Kirk's, Chekov's, Sulu's, and Spock's – looked altogether far too innocent and occupied for her liking.

Well, with the exception of Spock. His look was more of a…carefully controlled "blank". It was the same expression (or rather, lack thereof) that he employed when he was on the verge of revealing some disconcerting emotional turmoil. The last time Uhura could remember seeing that face was the day she had been handing out tribbles…she wouldn't soon forget the slightly panicked flash in that Vulcan's eyes when he realized he had been fondly stroking one of the fluffy critters. "Crooning" over them was a better word for it she had decided afterwards, looking back on the unfortunate event.

"Alright," she dragged the word out slowly, placing her hands on her hips. "What's going on?"

There was an uneasy silence, finally broken by Jim.

"Spock was…telling us all a story from Academy years." He squirmed in his chair. Hopefully, maybe, Nyota would accept his completely prosaic explanation and devote her attention to sticking that silver thing in her ear and doing whatever it was that the communications expert actually did. There were probably some transmissions that needed hailing, or something.

Judging by her stony expression, Nyota Uhura was far from satisfied. But Jim internally cheered at the flicker of curiosity that flitted across her face.

"What story?"

She turned her gaze on the Vulcan, who had to fight the sudden human and illogical urge to fidget under Nyota's scrutinizing glare.

"I was relating the events of the parasitic spores from Omicron Ceti III and the unsettling effects they had on myself, as well as the ensuing investigation conducted by Mr. Sulu, Mr. Chekov, and yourself in your successful attempts to discover a cure."

Outwardly, Spock appeared to be as unflappable as usual. Uhura, on the other hand, went from 0 to 180 in less than a second.

" _Which of you_ ," she spat, wheeling on the captain, navigator, and pilot, " _forced him into that confession?"_

Jim gulped and sank further into his chair. Chekov was all hands and pointed fingers, directed wildly in Sulu's direction. " _He_ started it!" he fairly squealed.

"I thought we had agreed to _never_ discuss that story _ever again_ ," Nyota ground out between clenched teeth. Sulu's only response was a weak shrug and a guilty look. He motioned in the direction of the captain's chair.

"Kirk kept pestering me!" he began, knowing as well as everyone else just how pitiful his excuse sounded. Uhura snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Mr. Sulu presents a valid point, Nyota," Spock intervened. Uhura snapped her gaze back to the First Officer, who continued speaking despite her withering glare.

"Once the existence of such a story was made known to Jim, we all know that it would have only been a matter of time before he discovered the entirety of the tale."

Nyota huffed, but it was less forceful than the other one had been. She knew, through personal experience, the sheer force of James T. Kirk's persistence. After all, this was the same James Kirk who had followed her around Starfleet Academy for three long years, running through miles-long lists of female (and some male) names in a dogged, self-appointed mission to uncover her first name.

"And it is a well-known fact that the amount of danger and inefficiency of this vessel is markedly increased when the captain is bored or agitated; therefore, my willingness to retell this particular set of events is merely an expression of my concern for the well-being of both the Enterprise and its crew." Trust Spock to make sharing memories a procedure completely motivated by _logic_. "Also, since the story has already been started, it would be best if I – to make use of one of your sayings – 'got it done and over with'."

Uhura sighed and shook her head, trying to bite back a smile. "Alright, Spock. But only if you're fine with telling it."

Spock tilted his head slightly, his left eyebrow raised in that specific position that Kirk and McCoy had dubbed the "why-would-you-make-such-a-pointless-statement-it-has-to-do-with-emotions-doesn't-it" look.

"So…" Jim perked up, a hopeful gleam in his eyes and a smile dancing on his lips, "I get to actually hear the story now?"

"Fine, _Captain_ ," Nyota returned with crossed arms and an eyeroll. "I swear, sometimes I wonder how you got assigned as the head of a starship."

Jim shrugged, seeming just as clueless as his communications expert. "Maybe 'cause of my good looks and exceptional leadership skills."

"Now that you're here, Uhura," Sulu interrupted, "how about telling him about your involvement?"

"Oh. Well, I don't actually have anything right now. It wasn't until I saw Spock after his…change… that I really got involved." Uhura sat down in her chair and took a quick look over the monitor. There was no need to tell the others about her uneventful morning the day of said events: how Gaila had baked two loaves of pumpkin-spice bread due to the fact that Nyota had a test coming up that she herself had been worried about. And she most certainly wasn't going to mention the short conversation she'd had with her roommate about a certain half-Vulcan, and how she expressed (however childish and insincere it had been) a desire to have him a bit more of a romantic.

In hindsight, the discussion had seemed a prophetic forewarning of what was to come. And what was the point of embarrassing herself in front of the Bridge by relating these unnecessary details?

There wasn't one, thank you very much. If everyone else wanted to mortify themselves this morning, then they were more than welcome to do so.

Jim didn't seem to mind Nyota's lack of contribution; his mind seemed to have wandered in the few seconds of silence. He was studying the creases in his Starfleet-issued black pants, his brows drawn together and his expression bordering on contemplative frown and far-away, thoughts-elsewhere-vacancy.

Finally, slowly, thoughts still churning in that noisy head of his, Jim turned his chair so it was once again facing the First Officer's station.

"Did the spores…" he started. He paused mid-sentence, tapping his chin and mentally reviewing whatever striking speculation he had just made. "Did they make you feel happy?"

"I would not say 'happy', Captain," Spock answered. "Perhaps 'contentment' would be a better word to describe what I…felt."

Jim nodded at Spock's statement, apparently satisfied with what his First Officer had said. Or perhaps it was something he had _expected_ Spock to say.

Either way, no one was really expecting the captain to send a conn to the Medbay a few seconds later.

"Nurse Chapel," he announced professionally (and loudly), "is Bones there?"

"He just got off shift twenty minutes ago, Captain," the nurse's voice returned. "I think he's in the mess now."

"Send him up to me when he's done eating," Jim responded. Flicking off the conn, he tapped the arms of his chair before clearing his throat and spinning in a full circle.

"Alright, Spock. I'll go first, since I want Bones to be here to hear your side of the story when he gets here."

"Vait…" Chekov was suddenly back in the conversation (and just as confused as everyone else). "…Vhat part did _you_ haff to play in all zhis?"

"Oh."

Uhura's small "oh" was so quiet that only Spock, with his sensitive pointy ears, and Jim Kirk, who knew that Uhura knew more about the whole picture than anyone else on the Bridge, could hear it.

"It started in the afternoon," Jim began enthusiastically, rubbing his hands together and wriggling into a more comfortable position. "After I woke up from a nap and realized I had maybe fifteen minutes to run from the library to my final class. Not to say that wasn't out-of-the-ordinary for me." He shrugged and grinned, more to himself and the memory than anyone present.

"But that's not really important. What's important is what happened after I got to the classroom. _That's_ when the story really got started."

* * *

 **You know what's kind of annoying about writing this? Having to add every other word of Chekov's dialogue to my Word Document's vocabulary. Seriously: there are so many red lines when typing this out...**

 **Oh, yeah. And my sister and I have this headcanon that Gaila does stress-induced baking. So there are a lot of goodies that get passed onto Nyota. She has a lot of snacks for class period.**


	4. Academic Absence

**Again, I'd like to thank y'all for the continued support of this story. To those new peoples: welcome!**

 **Finally...we're gonna be seein' some Bones action in this chapter!**

 **And by "action", I mean Bones showing up on the Bridge and complaining and picking arguments with Spock. But in all honesty, that's about 93% of the action he ever gets...so...I think I'm doin' a good job so far with keeping him in-character.**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

 **\- ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

 **Jim's POV**

* * *

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"You know," Sulu pointed out, "I may have been having fun with my plants-"_

 _"Zhat sounds so wrong on so many lewels," Chekov murmured._

 _"-But at least that was_ _ **after**_ _my courses." He grinned smugly at the captain. "You were taking power naps minutes before your class. So who's the one with questionable pastimes now?"_

 _"I was ensuring that I was well-rested, and therefore better able to pay attention during class period," Jim shot back with a large smile. "I had a crazy-hectic schedule to keep up with."_

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

Jim blinked blearily, swallowing back the post-sleeping thickness in his throat and snapping his head up. It whacked against the back of the wooden chair with a painful and rather unexpected _*crack*._

Ouch.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Jim panned the study room he was currently occupying and tried to remember what he had been doing before passing out over his PADD.

Speaking of which…

He squinted down at the bright screen inches from his face. It took a moment before the blurred black smears formed themselves into readable words: it was a chapter on notable ships' captains and their exploits throughout history, the name "Balthazar M. Edison" blazed across the top in big, bold lettering. All in all, it had been much more interesting than the advanced aerodynamics crap he'd been plowing through in the morning hours.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"Napping_ _ **and**_ _pleasure reading?" Sulu "tsked" and shook his head, frowning at the captain. "And you claim to be one of the best cadets Starfleet Academy's ever been graced with?"_

 _"I was giving my body time to rest by napping and stimulating my mind with reading material," Kirk rejoined. "You don't think I spent all my time at the Academy studying, did you?"_

 _"The thought never occurred to me," Sulu assured Jim._

 _"I never zhought zhat," Chekov piped up._

 _"I know for a fact you didn't," Nyota snorted._

 _"Indeed, Captain, it would be rather unlike your nature for you to employ all of your time in such an exemplary fashion," Spock noted._

 _Jim glowered and crossed his arms._

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

Let's see.

He checked the time on his PADD; 4:05 in the PM exactly (fifteen minutes before his final class of the afternoon). Then his sluggish mind finally caught up with him and he noticed for the first time a distinct lack of cranky medical cadets within his general vicinity.

"Bones?"

Said cranky medical student had been studiously staring at his PADD just across the table from Jim, occasionally clearing his throat or muttering curse words under his breath or poking Jim when the blond head began to droop forward. Anyone else might've been aggravated by the unwanted prodding and unnecessary commentary, but not Jim. That was just Bones being Bones, keeping tabs on Jim. And Jim returned these unasked-for favors by dragging Bones into his crazy adventures (aka James T. Kirk's day-to-day life) and making certain they both got out of them in one piece.

Because that was totally how they worked; it was almost like a symbiotic relationship. Jim supplied the brazen confidence, an easy smile, and a slapdash of adventurous mischief completely encompassed in a dazzling display of energetic self-assurance. And Leonard McCoy, M.D., he was the guy who griped and complained and kept Jim from getting so caught up in his own _self_ that he left the ground (and everything else) far behind.

They were the perfect, real-life portrayal of yin and yang. Well, excepting the fact that Bones wasn't female. But that only mattered if you were being really nit-picky about minor differences, which Jim wasn't.

So…Bones?

Knowing McCoy, he'd probably gathered up his stuff and headed to their final class of the day. Especially seeing as he only had about ten-to-twelve minutes to make it to the right building and classroom, Bones no doubt had gotten a head start –

And in that moment, realization hit Jim's still-not-quite-awake mind with the speed of an old-timey steam engine smashing into…something equally hard and destructive. Another train, maybe. Or a shuttle.

 _Ten minutes until class._

Well, crap.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"You wanna know how many times I saw you speeding across the campus, trying to be on-time for every class?" Nyota laughed (in spite of her previous attempts to appear uninterested in the story in the first place)._

 _Jim shrugged, twisting the chair back-and-forth. "I always tried to be there on time, if not a few minutes early. See? I'm not a total jerk all the time."_

 _"No," Nyota acquiesced with a slow nod. "Just most of the time."_

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

It took some marathon-worthy sprinting, almost dropping his PADD about forty times, and skillful sidestepping to avoid slamming his full weight into a random assortment of other cadets, but Jim actually made it to the classroom with seven minutes to spare. He scanned the room, blue eyes flitting from face to face. Funnily enough, McCoy wasn't one of them.

Oh, well. He'd show up eventually. In the meantime, Jim would find them some good seating.

Kirk bounced up the stairs (two at a time), eyeing the seats critically before finally settling with a couple in the fifth row, closer to the far right corner. That way, if either of them had questions (or answers, which was what Jim usually had), they were near enough to attract attention and could speak without worrying about sore throats in the morning. But if Professor Timon's lecture was particularly dry this afternoon – unfortunately for the cadets, this was often the case when it came to this course – then Jim could take notes while Bones discreetly took a power nap.

 _See? Perfect seating_. Jim hummed the chorus of a catchy pop song that he had heard the other night while at a local bar to himself. _You're welcome in advance, Bones._

Sometimes Kirk had the sneaking suspicion that his best friend was some sort of telepath, or could just _sense_ every time Jim called him by his –to quote – "ridiculous" nickname, 'cause who should show up suddenly in Jim's peripheral but none other than Leonard H. McCoy himself. He stood on the threshold of the lecture hall, scanning the room intently. Jim waved his arms wildly in the air, hoping to make himself stand out from the crowd of red-bedecked cadets milling about in carpeted aisles that separated the rows of chairs.

Small clusters half-talked, half-yelled at one another, waved at classmates from across the room, and a few were hurriedly weaving their way past the conversationalists in a mad dash for that left-behind PADD and/or last-minute bathroom break. In short, the presence of the other cadets made the large conference room seem much smaller and much louder than it should have been. And it made it all that much more difficult for people like McCoy to find the one person he was looking for in a turbulent sea of red outfits, moving mouths, and swishing hair of varying lengths and colors.

"Bones!" Jim cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed the word as loudly as he could. He was rewarded with McCoy's head whipping 'round in the direction of their picked seats. Their eyes locked, and the look that Jim received was not one that he soon forgot. A look that he really, sincerely hoped he'd never have to see ever again.

It wasn't a scared expression, per se. But it was a distracted sort of… _something…_ that Jim couldn't place. McCoy was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, seemingly rooted to the ground and he had his PADD pressed tightly against his chest like a chest guard. His gaze kept sliding from Jim's face to pan slowly around the room, drinking in the noise and people and radiating a nervous energy that, up until that moment, Bones had never before displayed.

 _Overwhelmed._

That was it: the word Jim had been searching for a second ago.

 _That_ was what Bones' posture and expression was screaming.

Jim tried to swallow back the almost-nauseating rush of concern that churned his stomach. Instead, he flashed the largest smile he could muster and motioned towards the chairs he was standing next to. His entire line of vision had zeroed in on his friend – he was so obviously distressed about something, something here was extremely _wrong_ – and Jim hoped that McCoy would have the sense to answer the question that he was silently communicating.

 _What's wrong? What happened? What can I help you with?_

OK, maybe he was asking a few more questions than just one. But this was _Bones_. When something was wrong with Bones, the man who had become such an integral part of Jim's life, then everything else went askew.

If McCoy got any of Jim's worried questions, he refused to acknowledge them. He hovered in the doorway for a few moments longer, anxiety working its way into his expression, which wasn't making the situation _any better, for goodness' sakes, Bones!_ Jim had been having a hard enough time processing the indecision that was still plastered to McCoy's face.

Then, without warning or explanation, Bones left.

He smiled at Jim (such a fake and transparent attempt; Jim could've known that without even _looking_ at his friend's face), turned on his heel, and slipped out into the hall, dodging past four rowdy cadets as he did so.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _The silence that followed, so unexpected and uncharacteristic, felt like a sudden weight dropped on Uhura's shoulders. A quick glance at her fellow Bridge members told her that, no, she wasn't the only one who was unsettled by the sudden lull in conversation._

 _Jim was staring at his legs again, fascinated, it seemed, by the little pieces of non-existent fuzz that clung to his pants. But Nyota didn't need to see her captain's face to determine what expression he was wearing. His lips, she knew, would be tightly pinched together in almost a pucker and his eyes would have that steely, locked-door-with-something-behind-it-that-I-don't-want-you-to-see glint that she rarely saw and that honestly kind of scared her when it made an appearance. It seemed that the captain wasn't too keen on continuing, which meant that people like Nyota wasn't certain she really wanted to hear it._

 _People like Chekov, though, weren't as cowed as others._

 _"…And zhen what?" he prompted._

 _He was answered by a short chuckle from the chair. Jim shook his head, ever so slightly, the beginnings of a smile pulling tightly at the ends of his mouth. Rolling his shoulders back, he raised his head and turned in the direction of Spock's station as if the Vulcan were his only audience._

 _"…And_ _ **then**_ _…" he repeated, "…Then I did something stupid."_

 _"No surprises there," Sulu murmured. Uhura bit back her own smile; the exact same thought had flashed through her mind at the same time._

 _"But not just any kind of stupid. Something grade-A, completely Kirk-brand stupid." Jim continued thoughtfully. The phrase was harmless enough: there was a laughing undertone that it rode on. But a bitter echo leaked into his words._

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

It really was a stupid thing.

"Stupid" like, "getting- into-a-bar-fight-when-you've-got-seven-opponents-stupid". Or "driving-a-car-off-a-cliff-for-the-heck-of-it-stupid". It was an "attempting-to-cook-food-with-laboratory-equipment-stupid"; or "forgetting-your-roommate's-in-your-bookbag-and-nearly-squashing-him-'cause-you-keep-putting-stuff-inside-it-stupid".

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _Jim had to stop almost as soon as he had restarted because of all the weirded-out stares he was getting from every direction._

 _"What?" he asked, eyebrows raised quizzically. He looked the picture of unassuming innocence._

 _"What sort of academy experience did you have, exactly?" Sulu responded with a question of his own._

 _"No way," Jim shook his head. "Not doing that. I'm only telling one story at a time."_

 _"And what story,_ _ **exactly,**_ _would that be? And does it involve me?"_

 _For the second time during the story-telling session, all eyes moved from the narrator and swung toward the lift doors. The newcomer, however, was faster than Nyota had been. He had already moved to his usual spot next to the captain's chair and was now standing more-or-less at attention, a grumpy frown plastered to his face, one eyebrow cocked, and arms clasped behind his back._

 _"Bones!" Jim cheered, a grin lighting his features. "Perfect timing! We're telling the story about how you got brainwashed by the happy spores back at the Academy. You're just in time to tell your part."_

 _The eyebrow, already arched, now seemed in danger of flying off of the CMO's face._

 _"…Come again?"_

 _"You know," Jim prompted, "The time that you were happy and wanted to leave the Academy and nearly killed me with a mint julep and a grass stem."_

 _Bones stared blankly back at Jim's expectant gaze for what seemed like hours before slow realization finally overtook his features._

 _"Ooooh…" He dragged the sound out in a long gust of air. "Jim…" He paused to run a hand over his face, "…Why_ _ **that**_ _story?"_

 _"'Cause," Jim fired back eagerly, "It's a fun story, Bones. It's a great story about our friendship. And besides," here he fixated all his attention on the doctor's face, "Spock got infected by them, too."_

 _McCoy looked from the captain to the first officer; as he processed Jim's statement, his glower melted into a smirk._

 _"Alright, then." He crossed his arms and looked expectantly towards Spock. "Let's hear it."_

 _"Actually, we're sort of trading stories," Jim broke in. "You and I are gonna tell them what happened to us that day, and then Spock, Sulu, Chekov, and Uhura are gonna tell us what happened to them. See? Win-win scenario. Everyone's happy."_

 _"I thought I was the only one," Bones wondered aloud._

 _"Obviously, Doctor," Spock responded, "Your assumptions concerning the events of that day have been shown to be incorrect."_

 _"Thanks for the clarification, Spock," Bones grunted. "Forgive me for not bein' here at the start of your story-time-fun-session."_

 _"That's what you get for showing up late," Sulu interjected with a shrug. "Your loss, Doc."_

 _"Guys." Jim tapped the arms of his chair impatiently. "Bones, I didn't bring you up here to argue. Spock, don't talk if it's not your turn to tell the story. Sulu, keep your snarky comments to yourself. Anyone else?"_

 _The beat of silence that followed Kirk's quick scan of the Bridge assured the captain that, for the time being, there was no danger of a sudden and unwarranted interruption._

 _"Good. 'Cause I want to hear this whole thing before we reach our next planet or the inevitable_ _ **something**_ _finally happens to our ship." Jim spun his chair so it once more faced his first officer. "Mr. Spock? I believe you're up."_

 _"But vhat about zhat stupid zhing you did?" Chekov asked (again)._

 _"He did a lot of stupid stuff," Bones answered. "You'll have to be more specific."_

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

Right. The stupid thing.

Or, more accurately, the stupid lack-of-doing-a-thing.

Maybe doing something at that moment would've made the rest of the evening go a lot more smoothly. If Jim had vaulted out of the classroom after Bones, he might've been able to figure out that much more quickly what exactly was wrong with his friend. Or maybe he would've inadvertently fixed the problem and then he and Bones would've gone and gotten a drink or something.

Except that Jim and Bones were attending a handful of the same courses together and they both relied on the other to pay attention during said courses in case the other wasn't present (physically and/or mentally). If Bones was bailing for an unknown reason and Jim went after him, who was going to stay and take notes about the lesson? In addition to this – an exceptionally important factor to Kirk personally – there was a test coming up in a few days, meaning that they both needed to be fully prepared to take it.

All these thoughts buzzed about in Jim's mind as he watched McCoy duck out the door. The twinge of concern could be ignored once the professor stepped into the classroom and the other cadets scurried to take their seats. Tapping his stylus against the surface of his PADD absently, eyes straying to the now-closed door…

…Jim should've given up the attempt. There was no way he'd be able to pay attention during the next hour-or-so.

Then again, this was James T. Kirk, and he had an unfortunate penchant for doing stupid things. This time was no exception; he stayed.

And let Bones leave.

* * *

 **OK. You guys know that line from the chapter you just read two seconds ago where Jim's talking about stupid things, and one of the stupid things includes putting stuff into his bookbag and nearly crushing his roommate?**

 **Well...that's another Academy-Era fic that I have planned. Another wonderful Bones-and-Jim-centric adventure. That one's gonna be fun to write. Don't worry; it's guaranteed to get written and posted. I promise.**


	5. Victim of Circumstance

**You know what's really interesting about this story?**

 **Writing in all the different POV's. 'Cause writing the chapter from Jim's perspective was different than writing Sulu's. And this next chapter is from Spock's perspective. I was compelled, while writing this chapter, to use longer sentences and bigger, more complex-sounding words and structures.**

 **It's just really, really cool and "fascinating" (as I'm sure Spock would say) to see how writing can be affected by the perspective, character, etc.**

 **ANYhoo...onto the chapter! I'm gonna be really busy these next few days, so I figured I'd try and get something posted today.**

 **One more week till Christmas... :D**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

 **\- ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

 **Spock's POV**

* * *

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _At the beginning of the story, Jim had been expecting a lot more happy-laughter moments based on Sulu's initial reaction to his and Chekov's exercising conversation. What he hadn't been expecting were confessions of deep and personal friendship-related mess-ups._

 _His, specifically. It was nothing short of awkward and more than a bit embarrassing._

 _Chekov – he was certain the kid regretted pursuing the subject of Jim's "stupid thing" by now – was fiddling with the switches at his station and not looking over his shoulder. However, no one else on the Bridge had any qualms about making the atmosphere that much more uncomfortable by staring wordlessly at their captain. Out of all of them, McCoy seemed (justifiably) the most affected. He crossed his arms over his chest and shot little apprehensive glances in the direction of the chair, rocking back on his heels and trying to formulate a statement that wouldn't sound weirdly romantic in some way so they could break the silence and move on._

 _"Perhaps," Spock interjected coolly, "Now would be the optimal time to relate those events which impacted myself directly; if Jim has finished his account."_

 _"For the time being, Spock," Jim responded quickly. "Go right ahead."_

 _Bones had to bite back the relieved "Thanks for the save, hobgoblin" that formed on the tip of his tongue. "I'm assuming it was quite an adventure for an individual such as yourself, Spock," he said instead. "To have your emotional, human feelings take precedence over your calculating mind."_

 _Spock acknowledged the jibe with a head tilt and slightly raised brow. Jim shot a glare in Bones' direction – he was getting real tired of people constantly interrupting the story – before directing his attention to his science officer._

 _ **So help me Spock, you'd better not pick a fight right now**_ _, he mused silently._

 _The Vulcan's response was another eyebrow placement (_ _ **Really, Captain?**_ _) before launching into the story._

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

Each day had its course, its schedule, its planned and plotted progression from Point A to Point Z. It began before the sun rose and often finished long after stars started to twinkle over San Francisco's towering backdrop of cement spires and glass windows. Every action, whether it be anticipated or a last-second decision, was expected to follow a rhythm.

Such a meticulous mapping-out of events was the melody of Spock's day-to-day life.

Commander Spock's morning was early and quiet, often filled with his physical and mental preparations to meet the oncoming day. Sometimes his usual routine was disrupted by an unexpected addition; breakfast with Captain Pike, for example, or a visit from his mother when she and Sarek made visits (usually business-related) to the planet. This day – a half-day at the Academy – differed from most in that he had an evening that was completely free of academic responsibilities. But he had made allowances for the changes in schedule: a few days ago he had determined how he was to spend his evening, and he was certain that Miss Nyota Uhura would be most pleased with his preparations.

The morning had passed into afternoon and Spock continued his usual course with languid familiarity. All was going well, with the exception of a small… _something_ that occasionally made his stomach curl and his fingers twitch. It wasn't a new experience, necessarily, but it was still a rather recent development and he hadn't become used to the fluttery tingle that made him want to fidget if he sat still for too long.

"There's nothing wrong, Spock," his mother had assured him. When he had felt that rush of strange and somewhat disconcerting emotion for the first time (there was no way he could deny that he was _feeling_ ), he contacted the one person he trusted most to help him discern what was going on and how to rectify it if possible. Upon hearing of his predicament, Amanda ducked her head and laughed softly, much to his annoyance. But she had a habit of reacting in such a manner when he was confused about elements of humanity.

"You're feeling anxious," she had explained. "It isn't a bad thing. You want to please Nyota, which also means that you're afraid of displeasing her."

"Fear" had seemed rather drastic. He was hardly frightened of Cadet Uhura, he informed his mother.

"Alright. You're not afraid of Nyota, but you want her to be happy. So you make plans and you get a little excited and a little nervous at the same time. That feeling isn't negative, Spock. In ways it helps by keeping you on your toes and aware of the fact that you're trying to please someone else, not just yourself."

It didn't make much sense, what his mother said (then again, the matters of humans were often alien to him), but he was able to understand that this emotion, although aggravating, did have its uses. And apparently there wasn't much he could do in terms of getting rid of it. So it stayed.

On a related note, though, walking about on tip-toe whenever he experienced this anxiousness sounded both uncomfortable and unappealing. He would walk the way he always did, thank you very much. No need to keep on his toes about it.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _Jim sighed loudly and buried his face in his hand._

 _"For your birthday, Spock, me and the crew are going to gift you with a dictionary on human sayings," he muttered._

 _"A thoughtful gesture, Jim," Spock acknowledged, "But an unnecessary one. I have acquired an understanding of human parlances and phrasing through prolonged exposure to humans, from my mother to yourself and various members of this crew."_

 _"Trial and error?" Bones scoffed. "I would've thought you'd have used a more_ _ **logical**_ _approach, Spock."_

 _"Indeed, Doctor. That is more consistent with my nature." Spock dipped his head in agreement. "However, a 'logical approach', as you call it, would hardly have helped me in this matter, since logic is_ _ **not**_ _consistent with the nature of humans."_

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

Now he was on his way to the final class of the afternoon. It was after this xenolinguistics session that he was intending to make his plans known to Uhura. He anticipated ("hoped" sounded too human, too whimsical) her assent.

The path he took was little-used: a longer way to his destination that took several turns and wound itself behind and around decorative vegetation that dotted the campus grounds. Less traffic and an extended walking period were desirable to the Vulcan, who cherished these precious moments of contemplative solitude. Between his never-ending responsibilities and being constantly bombarded by the agitated restlessness that seemed to be the natural state of most his colleagues, it seemed that tranquility had become a hard-won indulgence.

Lost in thought, Spock continued on his memorized route. So familiar had he become with this particular walkway that he knew each landmark and could probably guess the number of steps to the digit.

Which was no doubt the reason why he noticed the odd placement of several flowers immediately.

They weren't standing upright, showing off their petals to passers-by; rather, someone had supplanted them and left them on the side of the walkway, showering the cement with soil in the process.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"Oh, no." Jim gasped dramatically and placed a hand over his mouth. "Someone spilled dirt on the sidewalk. Someone call Academy Authorities."_

 _Bones "harrumphed" and rolled his eyes. Sulu ducked his head and stretched his hands out in a submissive gesture._

 _"Guilty as charged," he confessed. "I'm so sorry, guys."_

 _"Sulu!" Jim feigned offense, jabbing an accusing finger at his pilot. "How COULD you?! All this time, and I never would've guessed!"_

 _Spock scanned their faces with a deadpan countenance before locking eyes with Uhura. She mirrored his expression and they shared a moment of mutual empathy._

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

Spock kept walking, only pausing once he was standing directly over the flowers. A cursory glance revealed that they were a specimen previously unknown to him. Curiosity and some degree of fascination now took hold, and he stooped down to study their details more closely.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"Wow. You're all so stupid in this story," Jim announced. "I mean, Sulu leaves experimental plants lying out with doors unlocked and on the sidewalk where_ _ **anyone**_ _could find them. Bones runs into the unlocked lab and_ _ **sticks**_ _his_ _ **face**_ _into the flower. And you, Spock – and I really expected more from you, by the way – just pick up a plant that you've_ _ **never**_ _seen before. And you all question my ability to captain a starship?! How'd you get Starfleet's permission to graduate, let alone pilot one of their ships?"_

 _Spock was quick to defend himself. "Keeping in mind that the specimens in question were part of the decorative vegetation on the campus, I had no reason to believe that the flowers would be in any way detrimental to my health or mental state."_

 _"You went into the lab with my plants?" Sulu wanted to know, swinging his chair around so he could face McCoy. The CMO shrugged._

 _"Yeah. I was lookin' for my tricorder. It happened to be in there, along with your creepy plant. And I didn't stick my face into your flowers; they stuck their petals into my face."_

 _"Is Doctor McCoy now divulging details of his own account?" Spock inquired, an almost-confused expression flitting across his face. "I have not yet completed my portion of the story."_

 _"No, Mr. Spock." Bones shook his head. "Just clarifying some details for Sulu. Don't get your feathers ruffled."_

 _Another flash of confusion. The Vulcan opened his mouth partly, seemed to think better of it, and opted instead to return to the story._

 _"It was upon closer examination of the plant that it released its spores," Spock said. "I recall that they were launched forcefully, in a cloud of white particles. Those that I breathed in were the ones that affected my method of processing information."_

 _"How…exactly, did zhey change your 'mezhod of processing information', as you call it?" Chekov asked._

 _"It is…difficult…for me to explain," Spock response was slow, deliberate. "I myself have often pondered the change. Although I have experienced it, and therefore have some idea as to the nature of the change and how it felt, it is another matter altogether to try and describe it to others."_

 _"I think I might be able to help you out with that, Spock," McCoy interjected. "I got it too, you know. I can take a crack at it, and you can cover whatever I leave out."_

 _Jim looked back-and-forth between his CMO and science officer, eyes wide and brows arched high on his forehead._

 _"…What?" Bones finally asked._

 _"Are you two actually agreeing to work together on something?" Jim exclaimed, his words wrapped in incredulous disbelief (and maybe just a bit of poorly-hidden pleasure). "Today certainly is a day of surprises. Should we contact Starfleet? Mark today as a momentous holiday? Engrave this moment in eternity? I'm not sure I can stand the strain."_

 _"Unbelievable," was McCoy's muttered response. "D'you want me to tell my part or no? 'Cause I could leave right now. I don't have to spend my time off-shift up here with you lot. I could be reading or sleeping or doing something else equally productive-"_

 _"You wouldn't," Jim shot back. His voice was grim, but he was smiling. "But I'll shut up now. Entertain us, Bones."_

 _McCoy rolled his eyes; he wasn't going to dignify Jim with a retort._

 _"Might as well get it done and over with," he sighed._

* * *

 **Doctor, doctor, give me the news...I've got a...**

 **BAD CASE**

 **of lovin' yoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooou...**

 **Bones is next, y'all!**

 **My fav. :D**


	6. Happy Thoughts

**Merry Christmas Eve Day, everyone!**

 **And Merry Christmas!**

 **I hope everyone is having a wonderful Christmas, and that all preparations are going smoothly. I figured I'd give some of you readers a present of sorts by updating before I head to work.**

 **To be honest...this chapter wasn't my best. But I didn't want to look at it any more...so here y'all go!**

 **Oh, and for those who may be interested, there's this cool, sci-fi cop show called _Almost Human_ that's pretty good. It only ran one season before being cancelled, but the whole first season can be bought for a pretty low price on Amazon. You all can look up a summary if you're interested. I finished it the other night, and it was overall a pretty good show.**

 **ANYhoo, let's get on with the story, shall we?**

 **God bless and have a blessed Christmas!**

 **-ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

It wasn't that Leonard McCoy didn't understand or appreciate the significance of near-perfect course attendance. It was simply a matter of knowing that being on-time for class wouldn't make a bit of difference in the end if he was too distracted to pay attention to the lecture.

This was why, instead of taking advantage of the ten minutes before his final class to leisurely make his way to the classroom and claim two of the worn, scribbled-on and germ-infested seats for himself and Jim, he was half-jogging, half-skipping towards the Sciences Building, located two buildings away from his previously planned destination. So what if he wasn't there for roll call? If he chose to go now and forgo his errand, he'd be pulling handfuls of hair out of his head.

Thing was, his tricorder was _gone_.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"Ooooh," Jim's mouth formed an almost perfect "o". "How could I have forgotten? You and your medkit."_

 _"There was nothin' wrong with me or the medkit, Jim," Bones shot back._

 _"Bones was super obsessive about his medkit," the captain announced to the rest of the Bridge crew, "It was like, if there was anything out of place or missing, he went practically berserk. Couldn't focus, couldn't study, couldn't do much of anything 'till he got it fixed_ _ **exactly**_ _the way he wanted it."_

 _"I think you're exaggerating just a tad, Jim," McCoy grumbled. Jim's mouth twitched simultaneously with an eyebrow._

 _"Really? If I am, it isn't by much."_

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

Most people had a thing. For some, it was a perfectly stocked and well-organized bookbag or backpack or whatever. For another person, maybe a specific morning/afternoon/evening routine helped to keep them grounded. Still others relied on a particular after-classes location (i.e. their dorm, a local bar or restaurant).

McCoy took comfort in having a prepared medkit on his person nearly all the time. The small case, along with the hypos, tricorder, pills, and other such medical jargon inside it, had been given to him by the Academy. It was a collection of the most mundane supplies – really only meant for those more common accidents - but that didn't negate from the importance of having its contents arranged a way that made McCoy happy. Amid the hustle-and-bustle of campus life, combined with that ever-present little whisper of terror that had taken residence in his subconscious ever since he first considered the possibility of going up _into space of all places_ , the medkit was a routine. It was predictable. It was something Leonard could control.

So after nearly a full half-day of _knowing_ that his tricorder was missing and _knowing_ that his medical kit was incomplete without it, McCoy had decided that worrying about it wasn't fun and he was going to track the darned piece of equipment down. Before leaving the library he had considered waking up Jim, but the kid had looked (and acted) utterly spent. He still had ten minutes before class, anyway, so McCoy was sure Jim would be OK without adult supervision for that short space of time.

 _Labs…I know I had it with me at the lab last night._ His thoughts tracked back to when he remembered actually having his tricorder on his person. Best-case-scenario, he had forgotten it in the labs or in his dorm and he would find it sitting in one of those locations, exactly the way he'd left it. Worst-case-scenario, someone else had discovered it and: a) picked it up, b) moved it and/or _broke it_ or c) took it to the lost-and-found department.

He didn't even know whether or not the Academy _had_ a lost-and-found department in the first place. If it did, he had yet to locate it (strangely ironic when you thought about it).

McCoy brushed past another cadet – black hair, darker skin, slim and tall and wielding flowers in either hand – and shoved open the glass doors of the Sciences Building. His black boots _*thunked*_ loudly on the tile; his eyes scanned the door numbers as he barreled down the hallway with a speed that was indicative of either intimate familiarity of the building's layout or stress-fueled desperation. In McCoy's circumstance, it was mostly likely the second case.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"You're always on the brink of a stress-induced breakdown, Bones," Kirk observed._

 _"Guess who I have to blame for that?" McCoy groused, arms folded tightly against his chest again._

 _"Hey, not like being stressed is a bad thing," Jim was quick to reply, "You suddenly_ _ **not**_ _being stressed was one of the reasons why I knew something was wrong."_

 _"Oh, I was stressed…" Bones disagreed vehemently. He shifted position slightly, almost folding in on himself a bit._

 _ **As if in self-defense**_ _, Spock noted with some curiosity and a stirring of concern._

 _"…Just for all the wrong reasons," Bones concluded softly._

 _"So you made it to the right laboratory, I'm assuming," Uhura prompted. She was just as invested in the story as anyone else, but she also was quick to see the small signs of distress that flicked across the CMO's face. The sudden prominence of certain creases, an almost-twitch; his jaw grinding against his top teeth and a darkened expression (complete with a deep scowl). She wanted to move out of dangerous territory and get back on-track with the facts of the tale._

 _"What happened after that?"_

 _"I found my tricorder," Bones answered. He allowed his posture to relax. "And I saw a potted plant that someone had left sitting on the counter."_

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

He really couldn't have cared less about the flower. Upon entering the classroom and catching sight of his tricorder resting on one of the silver tabletops, everything else became insignificant. Grabbing the object and bringing it to his face, McCoy scrutinized every inch of the tricorder. It seemed undamaged, miraculously.

 _Now_ McCoy could let out a relieved sigh. Some of the tension that he had felt festering all morning and afternoon was now able to roll off his shoulders. All to do now was to pull his medkit out of his bookbag and slip the tricorder back into its place.

Giving his medical equipment a final look-over, McCoy nodded, satisfied. A glance at the clock in the lab told him that he had about five minutes to make it to class. If he hurried, he'd still be able to beat the professor to roll call. On top of that, Jimmy was probably already there and wondering where his favorite grumpy physician had disappeared to. That is, if he wasn't still drooling onto his PADD and the library furniture.

He shoved his medkit back into his bag and turned to leave. Getting to the door took him past the plant, which slowly swiveled in its pot to follow the cadet's movements.

McCoy paused. Of all the things he could have anticipated the plant doing (which, to be honest, he hadn't really expected it doing _anything whatsoever_ ), having it start _moving_ , of its own volition it seemed, was pretty far down the list. A wary curiosity took hold and he stooped forward to examine it more closely.

As he closed the distance between himself and the flower, the specimen straightened. Its trembling petals began to stretch outward, almost as if the plant were opening itself up, trying to reveal something hidden within. McCoy watched in fascination, waiting for whatever unexpected surprise the flower had in store for him.

The surprise came a moment later, when the plant disgorged a powdery substance into the air. It hit the unsuspecting cadet full in the face, getting caught in his hair and sprinkling his red suit with white specks. He stumbled back, coughing and attempting to spit what little had gotten into his partly-open mouth.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"Just so you know, Sulu," Bones interrupted himself to glare pointedly at the pilot, "I'm blaming you entirely for the events of this entire story."_

 _"You're the one who was sticking his face into an unknown specimen!" Sulu retorted. "That decision had to contribute in some way. It can't just be all on me."_

 _"Maybe if you had closed the door…" Jim mumbled into his shirt sleeve, "…Or, I don't know, labeled the plant in some way to let others know that it was an 'unknown specimen'…"_

 _"What did it feel like?" Uhura quickly asked in order to circumvent an inevitable petty feud between her fellow crewmembers._

 _Bones frowned in response to the question. There was a beat of silence, which he finally broke with a slow and halting explanation._

 _"I…can't say for certain_ _ **when**_ _the change actually happened: if it was at once-" here he snapped his fingers for emphasis, "-or if it was a few seconds later. All I know is I was thinking and just_ _ **feeling**_ _differently."_

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

McCoy left the lab, ambling down the hall and pausing after opening the glass doors of the building to breathe deeply.

For the first time in what seemed his whole life, he was acutely aware of how sweet the air tasted on his tongue and the fresh scent that tickled his nostrils. The sun was shining overhead, its golden rays creeping over the cracked gray pavement and patches of green grass; that was _good_. It was beautiful and calming. McCoy's hand strayed to the medkit at his side. He patted it (now that he had found the tricorder, it was complete again and that was _good_ ) and grinned. The other cadet was nearer now, still hefting those two plants. Leonard acknowledged him with a smile and a wave, then struck out towards his initial destination.

Jim would be waiting for him, no doubt. Maybe he was concerned that McCoy wouldn't make it. But McCoy wouldn't leave his friend; wouldn't let him worry.

(Jim was his friend and that was _good_. It was a calming, comforting fact)

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"That's why I couldn't stay in the lecture hall, Jim," Bones expounded. "Whatever those spores did to me, they emphasized thoughts, experiences, and facts that made me feel comfortable. Content. Going to the classroom, with all those people, the noise…" He paused and shook his head before continuing._

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

McCoy didn't realize his mistake until he was standing in the doorway of the classroom. He had been focused on the thought of seeing Jim, of talking to Jim and making small-talk while they looked over their PADDs and ignored the lecturer. Indeed, so focused had he been on these aspects that all others somehow slipped his mind: namely, the other cadets and everything they did.

He stirred restlessly, his gazing leaping from one face to the next as he tried the track every movement. There was talking, yelling and people jostling each other. In the first row of seats, several cadets were involved in a heated discussion which seemed in danger of escalating into a full-blown argument. The bright red color of the uniforms pressed itself onto his eyes; he could hardly see anything else for the scarlet haze.

The noise was too loud, the room too small, the colors blindingly bright, he could feel a stirring of emotion – the very beginnings of concern or aggravation or something else equally distressing – and he felt the sudden, alarming need to make it _stop._ What he was feeling wasn't _good_. It was _bad_. It _hurt._

"Bones!"

The sound of his name (well, his nickname, more specifically) was a welcome diversion from the rising panic. McCoy scanned the room and soon found the source of the familiar voice. Jim Kirk was waving to him from the fifth row of chairs, motioning to two seats. They locked eyes, and Jim's expression morphed from joy to confused concern in less than an instant.

Something was w _rong._ Jim could feel it, too. He wanted to help. And McCoy wanted to accept that friendly invitation.

But, on the other hand, how could he expect Jim to understand?

That wasn't a good thought, either. In fact, it only made it worse…whatever _it_ actually was.

There was no way that Bones could resolve his current crisis. He wasn't sure what the solution was, or if there even was a solution, but he did know that he couldn't stay here. His mind was screaming that something was extremely off, his stomach was curling and he was dangerously close to being paralyzed with anxiety.

He needed to leave.

He needed to leave _now._

So that's what he did. With a quick smile aimed in Jim's direction ( _Please don't come after me Jim, just stay here and I'll work it out on my own. Don't worry)_ , McCoy spun on his heel and ducked out the door, sidestepping a group of rowdy cadets as he did so. He felt much better upon stepping outside once more. Out here he could breathe a little easier. Out here he could more easily ignore the small voice scraping into his subconscious; the one that worriedly noted that maybe leaving had been just as wrong, if not more so, than if he had decided to remain instead.

* * *

 **Trying to imagine how the spores would change someone's way of thinking/processing information/perceiving the world around them/etc. was cool and fun. I hope you all enjoy my interpretation of how it affects its victims.**


	7. Sweet Contentment

**Welp, I hope everyone had a truly Merry and blessed Christmas, and a Happy New Year! Did anyone stay up? Is that just something you do before you become perpetually tired all the time?  
**

 **(Like me. I didn't stay up...though I think I got close 'cause I was probably watching something or whatever...)**

 **ANYhoo...here's the next chapter!**

 **I got a little tired of looking at it towards the end there...so if it's not "A+" quality, then that's probably the reason. Just blame me. :D**

 **Thanks to all new followers/favoriters! And the reviews are great, too. :)**

 **ALSO SHERLOCK SEASON 4. WHO WATCHED "SIX THATCHERS" AND NOW IS EMOTIONALLY COMPROMISED BY SAID EPISODE AND A LITTLE BIT MAD AT SAID EPISODE FOR REASONS? IS IT JUST ME AND MY SISTER? MAYBE? I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO THE REST OF IT. YES.**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

 **\- ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

 **Nyota Uhura's POV (Maybe just a tad of Chekov POV, as well)**

* * *

Tiri Nav and her roommate had their heads together again, hissing and tittering as snippets of their conversation bounced back-and-forth in stage whispers. Even from the third row they could be heard, which was where Nyota Uhura was seated, staring down at her PADD and twirling her stylus with one hand like a baton.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"Hey. Woah." Jim faced Nyota. "I thought you weren't getting involved in the story."_

 _"I never said that," Uhura returned, crossing her arms. "But if you didn't want me to say anything, I'm fine with stopping now. I have better things to do with my time."_

 _"That's what I said," Bones grumbled. He glared pointedly at the side of jim's head. "And you still forced me into telling my part of the story. You didn't let_ _ **me**_ _leave."_

 _"I'm not letting Uhura leave either," Jim responded. Uhura scoffed and stood up._

 _"Yeah, I'd like to see you try. What're gonna do if I decided to leave, huh? Stop me?" Without waiting for a reply, Nyota left her station and headed for the main lift._

 _"Oh, come on, Uhura!" Jim followed her movements with his chair. "I want to hear this story! Come back and tell us."_

 _"Maybe if you ask nicely." Uhura didn't even turn around._

 _There was a beat of silence, broken only by an exasperated sigh from the captain's chair._

 _"Fine. Please."_

 _Nyota made no attempt to hide the smug grin as she turned and slowly seated herself at the communications' station. She made an ordeal of getting comfortable, all the time her eyes fixed on the fidgety captain. McCoy was shaking his head, attempting (and failing) to hide his amusement. And she could've sworn that she saw an approving nod from Spock._

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

She sent an offended glare in the direction of the back row, then moved her gaze to the clock hung above the chairs on the far wall. According to the clock's silver hands, class should've started exactly thirteen minutes ago.

 _Exactly thirteen?_ She had to pause and smile a little to herself. _Maybe I'm hanging out with Commander Spock too much._

The smile pulled itself into a worried frown. _Thirteen minutes._ Spock was never late. Not without good reason to, and he always made certain to inform his students of any schedule change.

Restless agitation rippled throughout the room. Cadets carried on discussions and fidgeted in their seats. Several of them, apparently not expecting their pointed-eared professor to show, began gathering their materials. Tiri and her friend were the first to actually get up and exit the room, flouncing down the aisle and giggling all the way to the door. They were followed closely by a cluster of impatient peers.

Uhura watched them go, glanced up at the clock again, then turned in her chair to scan the remaining students. She spotted a tuft of golden curls and wide, questioning eyes. Nyota often had a difficult time locating Chekov in the crowded classroom; despite the fact that he wasn't the shortest student she'd come across on the campus, there was a smallness to him that allowed him to get lost easily in a mob of red uniforms. But there he was in his usual seat, and based on the expression he was wearing, he had the same concerns as Uhura.

 _Where was Spock?_

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"I didn't know you guys went to the same classes," Jim said._

 _"It vas only one or two," Chekov clarified. "But yes, we had xenolinguistics wizh Mr. Spock."_

 _"I'm sorry for both of you," Bones interjected. "Having a Vulcan for a teacher, let alone a commanding officer, must've been quite a challenge."_

 _Spock raised an eyebrow at McCoy's statement. Uhura looked ready to fire some biting remark, but the Vulcan beat her to it._

 _"A pity, Doctor, that prolonged exposure hasn't increased your appreciation for the finer things in life."_

 _"Finer things?" Bones humphed and shook his head. "Vulcans? Is that what you're tryin' to imply, Spock?" He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head once more for emphasis. "If that's what you think, then I've just discovered the source of a lot of your problems."_

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

They met in the hallway just outside the lecture room, Uhura with her PADD held against her chest and Chekov toting his book-carrier behind him with one hand. Other cadets thronged around them, making a speedy exit and excitedly praising their good fortune. Getting out of studies early! Now they could partake in the million-and-more activities that they would originally have spent the class period imagining.

But unlike their carefree peers, both Nyota and Pavel understood the significance of the absentee commander and the seriousness that such an occurrence connoted.

"Where do you zhink Commander Spock could be?" Chekov wondered aloud. His fingers _tip-tapped_ against the plastic handle of his carrier. His eyes roved the nearly-empty hallway as if he had somehow missed the Vulcan professor, or expected him to suddenly materialize from behind a wall. Despite the senselessness of such an action, Nyota allowed her own gaze to sweep from one end of the hall to the other before shrugging.

"Whatever it is, it's got me worried."

Chekov nodded in agreement. "He's never late," he pointed out quietly.

"Exactly. That's what's got me so worried." Uhura squared her shoulders and turned purposefully to the right. Pavel had taken the moment of quiet to pull out his own PADD and scan his schedule for the day, just in case he had missed a message from Spock informing his students about the abrupt cancellation.

"If he's anywhere," Uhura continued, interrupting Chekov's quick search, "It would most likely be his office. Let's go."

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"Wait, let me guess," Jim interrupted. He was hunched over in his chair, eyes fixed on Uhura. "He wasn't in his office."_

 _"V-e-l-l…" Chekov dragged out the word, "You're not wrong, Sir."_

 _"We never made it to his office," clarified Uhura. "We found him before we had a chance to make it that far across the campus."_

 _"After, what? Four hours of searching high and low for him?"_

 _Nyota's level gaze turned itself into a somewhat smug half-smile. She glanced Spock's way before answering._

 _"It was actually pretty easy to find him. All Chekov and I had to do was follow our ears."_

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

A large campus with a plethora of potential hiding spots. As far as Chekov was concerned, hunting down their professor was about as easy as finding that elusive needle in a bundle of straw (some famous saying he had heard from a fellow cadet…he was certain it must be Russian in origin).

But as soon as Uhura heard the sound of a stringed instrument wafting through the relatively quiet, late-afternoon air, finding Spock became an easy task.

"This way." She spun to her left and dashed across the green, cutting through lawns and weaving around bushes in her search. Chekov tailed at her heels, his book-carrier _*click-clacking*_ on the cement walkways and occasionally jerking to an awkward halt in the grass. All the while, the music grew louder and more distinct, a beacon of sound to guide them in the general direction of its source.

What Nyota expected was to see the professor seated on a bench, serenely plucking the strings of his Vulcan lute.

What they ended up discovering was a scene that neither Nyota nor Chekov could have ever imagined.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"Was Spock dancing?" Jim asked._

 _"You saw Spock doing the cha-cha in a hula skirt, surrounded by a swarm of butterflies," guessed McCoy. His words were followed by a long period of silence as everyone slowly riveted their gaze to their CMO. Uhura blinked, opened her mouth and shut it again. Jim cleared his throat and tapped against the arm of his chair. Sulu pressed a few buttons on his console, the beeping sounding very loud in the Bridge's suddenly-quiet atmosphere._

 _"…Well," Jim coughed. "I honestly…I've got nothing."_

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

"Hello, Nyota. Pavel."

The disembodied voice was coming from above their heads. Tilting back, the two cadets squinted into the green foliage of a large carrotwood. Several chords were played, golden splashes of sound to mix with the evening breeze and the hum of insects. It wasn't hard to spot the Vulcan; his grey outfit stood in stark contrast to the varying shades of green that surrounded him on all sides. He was resting amid the branches, his back against the smooth bark of the tree. One leg dangled freely in the air. His pale hands ran along the strings of a Vulcan lute, sliding to-and-fro, arching and relaxing, picking one or more strings in ever-so-slightly-different ways to produce a variety of varying tones. The music lulled to a gentle halt as Spock acknowledged his audience.

Uhura fidgeted under his gaze. There was… _something_ about it that she found distasteful. She wondered if she was the only one affected, or if Chekov as well had sensed this new, negative development.

The warm, full brown eyes questioned her discomfort silently. Without warning, the lute was thrown from the tree to the earth; Chekov, stumbling forward with a cry of alarm, was barely able to catch the instrument from smashing onto the grass. Then, if the situation wasn't already bizarre enough, he leaned forward, straddling the branch as if it were a pony. Gripping the wood with his arms and wrapping his legs securely around his makeshift seat, the Vulcan let the rest of his body slide off the branch.

He was now upside-down, dangling from the tree limb much like an overgrown, pointed-eared sloth. And his gaze – the softest that Uhura could ever remember seeing it – was still fixated intently on her.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _Jim was realizing that he wasn't the only one in the story with a fair share of personal embarrassments to worry about. Spock was pointedly_ _ **not**_ _looking at anyone; instead, he was captivated by his PADD and whatever oh-so-important-and-fascinating report had suddenly demanded all of his attention._

 _Bones and Jim exchanged a knowing look. For once, they decided against turning the awkward account into a jibe._

 _But if Jim knew his friends well enough (he did; at least this he was certain of, if nothing else), he'd bet his captaincy that Bones was mentally filing all of this away for another day. Nothing like having extra fuel to add to his daily fallouts with the Science Officer._

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

"What are you doing?"

That originally would've been the question asked by either Uhura or Chekov in this instance. Spock, though, had beaten them to it. His body rocked back-and-forth as he continued to hang from the limb. It seemed an innocent-enough question; he didn't appear to be troubled by his own odd behavior.

And that wasn't helping Uhura feel any better about the situation _at all_.

She glanced at Chekov – it was one of those rare, far-between moments where Nyota Uhura was at a loss for words – before looking back up at Spock. At the very least, she had expected some valid excuse for his absence; at the most, maybe some explanation for why Spock, of all people she knew, had decided to spend his afternoon lounging in a tree.

"You…you weren't at class," she began haltingly. "I…Chekov and I…were worried that something had…happened."

Spock nodded rather sagely before his countenance broke into a dazzlingly-large smile. He dropped to the ground and smoothed down his outfit.

"While I am touched by your concern, Nyota, it was unnecessary. I have, in all honesty, never felt better." He spoke in earnest, as if anxious to convince her that he was indeed speaking the truth. "The reason for my absence is simple: I had no desire to attend today's xenolinguistics session. Remaining out here, immersing myself in music while surrounded by the natural beauty which the outdoors has to offer was a much more pleasing prospect."

If Uhura hadn't been worried enough before, she now had alarms blaring in her mind. This was _wrong_. This was _nothing_ like the Spock she knew and had come to appreciate as more than an instructor and friend. To shrug off his duties with such indifference…not to mention that the bright smile was an ill-fitting addition that she couldn't wave away.

"However," Spock continued talking, his voice languid and his movements more so as he stepped towards her with outstretched arms, "Your presence here is a pleasant surprise. With fewer academic courses to attend, it had been my intent to take you on…an 'evening out' I believe you would call it." The distance between them was nearly closed completely; he took her hand in his own left, the other hand gently snaking about her waist. "But I do not see the sense in going anywhere, nor in waiting for a later time than this moment."

The Vulcan tilted his head to side, his attention flicking from Uhura's face to the flustered Chekov, whose hands were still wrapped around the lute.

"Can you play?"

It took a few seconds before Chekov registered that he was being addressed. "Uh…no. No, I cannot."

"That hardly matters," was the response. Spock leaned forward, almost into Uhura as he adjusted his position and began to sway back-and-forth; a slow, fluid motion. His skin was cool against Nyota's palm, his breath a soft gust of warmth against her cheek as he dipped his head downward, meeting her eyes with his own. There was no sound but the leaves shivering over their heads as an evening breeze shook the branches, ruffling Spock's bangs and spraying flyaways into Uhura's face. Somewhere in the grass, a cricket or two chirped their erratic, shrill symphony. Low and far-away was the chatter of cadets moving across the campus, of footsteps on the paved pathways. Even more distant was the occasional siren or car alarm: reminders of the bustling city that lay beyond the campus.

But these noises were muted, almost non-existent. In that patch of green, underneath a spreading carrotwood, these sounds merely served as ingredients that came together to produce a final result. It was a song, the basis of a symphony that was intended for an audience of two. Spock seemed to hear it perfectly, finding within this strange cacophony a rhythm for his dance to follow.

The pounding of Nyota's heart in her throat drowned out any other noise. Even as she was drawn, in spite of herself, into the gentle sway, Spock leading her in a slow circle, she was struck by the oddness of it all. How unnatural, uncharacteristic, and just plain, flat-out _wrong_ this whole surreal situation was.

"You seem distressed."

Spock's voice was a cool liquid; he rested his forehead against her own. She could feel it, distinctly: a sense of calm that leaked into the lump of worry in her chest.

 _Touch-telepath._

Nyota knew that Vulcans could receive and communicate emotions through the touch of skin against skin, but she also knew that these same Vulcans were very private creatures. Often they would have some sort of shielding to guard their own emotions, while also providing protection against an onslaught of conflicting feelings from their surroundings. But right now she was acutely aware of the aura of tranquility that radiated off his person. It poured through her fingertips, washing over her anguish as if to dull it.

"Spock…" She worked her hand from his grasp and stepped back. "…This…There's something wrong."

 _Please tell me what's wrong. I don't understand…_

Confusion crept into Spock's features. He regarded her with a small frown and slightly raised brow before shaking his head.

"I would not expect you to understand, Nyota." He spoke as if addressing a small child.

"Try me," she shot back with more venom than she might have originally intended. She could blame it on the worry.

He scrutinized her again, but there was a difference in his gaze. He was thinking, Uhura could tell, working out some problem in his head. Examining all the parts of a complex equation before deciding upon a conclusion. The frown smoothed itself into a composed almost-smile.

"Perhaps, if you wish it, I could help you to understand."

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"Not creepy at all," Jim interjected in a stage whisper. Uhura glared at the captain._

 _"Look, Mister 'I-wanted-to-hear-this-story-_ _ **so**_ _-badly': if you want to keep interrupting me, go right ahead. But I hear one more word and I_ _ **will**_ _stop talking. You should be grateful I'm even telling you this much in the first place."_

 _Jim turned to Bones with a trembling lower lip and wide blue eyes. "Did you hear what Uhura just said to me?" he blubbered. McCoy's response was an exaggerated eye-roll._

 _"Infant."_

 _"You're great at support, Bones. Anyone tell you that?" Jim crossed his arms and proceeded to commence fake-sulking. Bones raised an eyebrow and looked over the captain's head at Uhura. She shrugged, fighting to keep a grin from appearing._

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

"What am I not 'understanding'?" Uhura asked. She took a step or two back, widening the gap between herself and the Vulcan. There was enough information on their species for her to know that their skill set included more than just touch-telepathy, and she wasn't sure she wanted to be the target for a mind-meld. Not from Spock. Not right now.

But that didn't seem to be Spock's course of action. True, he reached out his hand, but she realized that he seemed more intent upon taking her hand in his own than planting his fingers against the side of her face.

"It isn't far from here," he began, twining his fingers about her palm. Again she was flooded with the sensation of utter calm, utter tranquility.

"What is?" She forced her voice to remain steady, curious, even. Her eyes locked with Spock's; not a flinch or flicker of hesitation.

"The source of the happiness," was the answer she received.

Uhura threw a look over her shoulder at Chekov, who was drinking in the conversation with wide eyes and a partially-opened mouth. He shook his head a little and shrugged his shoulders at Nyota's questioning gaze. Whatever Spock was going on about, he was the only one in-the-know.

"'The source'?"

"Yes. A fairer flower than any other…it was quite by chance that I happened upon it myself." Spock closed his eyes briefly. A smile lit his face at the memory of…whatever it was he was remembering. "If you come with me, you will understand."

Uhura was utterly lost. First Spock in a tree, then dancing with her, and now he was spewing some jargon about flowers and a 'source of happiness', whatever that was supposed to mean.

Chekov, on the other hand, had zeroed in on Spock's phrase regarding flowers. For an unknown reason, it had triggered memories from earlier that afternoon, watching Sulu as he experimented on his new plant specimens. The weird flower with the unidentified spores…and the two plants that he had left on the sidewalk, waiting to be brought to the lab for observation.

It was a crazy coincidence, and probably nothing more than this. But Chekov couldn't just leave it at that. If Spock's erratic behavior had anything to with Sulu's new pet project, then maybe Sulu would have the explanation that Uhura and Chekov so desperately needed.

"Uhura!" He was already running, lute still clenched in his hands. "Stay with zhe professor! I'll be right back!"

Chekov didn't hear Uhura's response (if there even was one). He was speeding across the campus, destination Sciences Building.

 _Sulu had better be there_ , he mused silently between panting gasps.

 _And if he was, he'd better have some_ _ **wery**_ _good answers._

* * *

 **Welp...I'm not actually exactly sure what should come next...Maybe Chekov and Sulu? Maybe Jim looking for Bones all over the campus? What do y'all think?**


	8. Exclusive Membership

**And believe me, I am Still Alive...I feel fantastic and I'm Still Alive...**

 **Hey, folks.**

 **I realize it's been a while.**

 **But in my defense, I've been super busy and this chapter was hard to write. It was actually going to be longer than what it is now, but I decided to break it up into two separate chapters. And since I've already started typing that section up, Ch. 9 shouldn't take quite as long.**

 **ANYhoo, here's some Chekov and Sulu for you. There's a rather new development to this story that attacked me out of nowhere about a day or two ago, so future chapters may now be going in a slightly different direction than originally planned.**

 **That, and we may be seeing more McCoy...so...win-win in my opinion.**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

 **ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

Of all the ways Chekov could have imagined spending his half-day, sprinting across the campus grounds in a mad search for his roommate in hopes of discovering a cure for an insane Vulcan hadn't been on his list. Maybe a little bit of studying, sure. A walk across the campus? Maybe. Tagging along with Sulu to a nearby bar or restaurant and spending the evening sipping "little kid drinks" and talking to the pretty young women who came through the front door? Almost definite.

All in all, his ideas of whiling away the extra free hours were better than Sulu's by a long stretch. For anyone who might be tempted to disagree, he had mountains of reference material to back this claim (see also: "appropriating-and-flying-a-shuttle-without-a-liscence- _Hikaru-Sulu-I'm-looking-at-you_ ").

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _Bones was doing that thing where his fingers were digging into the bridge of his nose and his whole forehead was crinkling up. A soft sigh passed slowly through his lips._

 _"Angels and ministers of God's grace," he breathed. Under closed lids, he was no doubt rolling his eyes to the ceiling, "Defend us!"_

 _"Soooooo…." Jim's lilting, drawn-out "so" broke through the sudden silence. "…Who's the one with questionable past-times_ _ **now**_ _?" He smiled hugely at the back of Sulu's head. The pilot turned to face him with a blank stare._

 _"We're only doing one story at a time, Captain," he reminded him in a monotone. "Besides, who was the one best-prepared for their shuttle flight test? Not you, I'd imagine."_

 _Uhura took a long moment to survey the faces she was surrounded by before settling her gaze on Spock's face. Based on his expression (or lack thereof), she knew that, in that moment at least, they were processing similar thoughts. Namely, how anyone on the Bridge had gotten the go-ahead from Starfleet to own one of their ships, let alone fly it through the unknown of space._

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

It was actually extremely infuriating that he and Uhura had nothing else to go on other than a passing plant-related comment. Not to downplay their levels of intelligence or anything, but Chekov _knew_ that he was chasing after an elusive goose with his lead. He knew it acutely, and could only pray that his hunch would give him some clue as to how to _fix_ whatever had happened to Spock.

That, and maybe he'd better throw in a prayer or two that Spock wouldn't be inclined to do anything to Uhura other than serenade under a tree –

 _*THUNK*_

Chekov's train of though was completely derailed and he flailed instinctively to keep from face-planting on the cement. Someone or something had thrown itself into his path, and he'd been too focused on his own feverish concerns to notice until they had collided.

"Watch it!" he managed to snip between gasps of air. The momentary pause allowed him to hunch over, hands on his legs, as he panted for breath. The opposing force had also been brought to a halt; through his curls Chekov could see a pair of red pants and black boots.

"Sorry," a voice responded. It was young, gaspy, and edged with worry. "I didn't see you. I was looking for someone else."

Chekov brushed back his hair and straightened to his full height. He was facing the other cadet head-on, now, though even standing ramrod-straight didn't bring them eye-to-eye (a common occurrence in Chekov's day-to-day interactions). Surprisingly, he recognized the face that stared back down at him. Blue eyes, crazy blond hair, eyebrows scrunched together and little lines sticking out on his forehead and branching out around his eyes. This particular cadet was well-known throughout the academy whether one was personally acquainted with him or not.

But since this student wasn't Hikaru Sulu (Kirk? Was that his name?), he wasn't of any use to Chekov.

"Have you seen a guy come by?" Kirk was still talking, and there was an urgency beneath his words that made Chekov stop and listen. "Taller, brown hair, brown eyes, holding a PADD? Usually complaining or swearing under his breath? Burly and surly?" He smiled a bit to himself at that last part, apparently immensely pleased with his own rhyme and no doubt storing it away for later.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _Jim was smiling._

 _"Burly and surly," he whispered quietly. Bones passed a hand over his face for about the fifth time since he had gotten involved in the story._

 _"No, Jim."_

 _"I didn't say any-"_

" _Just stop."_

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

"No." Chekov shook his head. "I haven't seen anyone like zhat."

"Alright. Thanks." Kirk nodded his head in a distracted acknowledgement of the kid's answer before taking off again. Chekov watched him go, then with a shake of his own head he started in the direction of his previous destination.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"By zhee way, did you find McCoy?" Chekov addressed the captain, who was still grinning into his shirt sleeve._

 _"Well…yeah," Kirk scratched his ear absent-mindedly. "I thought that would be pretty obvious."_

 _"Keep going," Uhura prompted. "This is one of my favorite parts."_

 _"What about it is so super?" Jim wanted to know._

 _"It's about Sulu," was Nyota's response._

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

"Sulu!"

The front lobby was devoid of any signs of life. It was eerie, in a way, to see a room that was usually filled to bursting with red suits, a handful of storm-cloud-grey uniforms, loud voices and the steady rhythm of boots clunking against the tile, suddenly so empty. Chekov's voice ricocheted against the high white walls and was thrown back at him in a faint echo. He crossed the distance in a few long leaps and continued his frantic search, occasionally pausing to open a door and peer inside.

"Sulu! Vhere ever you are, you are needed! It's _wery_ important!"

No response.

"…"

"…It's about your plants!"

Still no answer. A fair attempt on his part, though, Chekov thought. In any other circumstance, it probably would've worked.

"SULU!" He was practically bellowing now as he viciously kicked open a door on the second story. "I'VE BEEN LOOKING ALL OWER AND-" he stopped dead in the doorway, foot still halfway in the air.

There, incredibly, sitting at one of the tables was Hikaru Sulu. His attention had been fixed on a microscope in front of him and whatever substance lay beneath its lens and bright light. However, at the dramatic entrance by Pavel Chekov, he looked up and the two men stared dumbly at the other for several seconds. In the background, a faint bubbling noise was provided by a substance left on a lone Bunsen burner in the corner of the room.

Then Sulu's expression was overtaken by a wide smile and he gestured for Chekov to come inside.

"Hey, Chekov! Fancy meeting you here. I was actually just thinking about going out to find you."

Chekov shook himself back to the present and rushed to Sulu's side.

"Sulu, I've been looking _everyvhere_ for you!" The words came tumbling out in a rush. They needed something, _anything_ to make progress on Spock's diagnosis, and Chekov didn't have the patience for Sulu's ridiculously large smile or small-talk. "Uhura and I need your help! The Wulcan professor, Spock, you know him, right? He's started acting strangely and vee don't know vhat's wrong and he said somezhing about plants – vell, flowers, actually – so I zhought zhat perhaps you might be able-"

"Woah, there." Sulu raised his hands in the air, placing them between himself and Chekov. "Slow down, buddy. You've got enough antsy energy to power a warp engine." He shook his head and chuckled to himself. Chekov glowered at his roommate. Did he find Chekov's behavior _cute_? Endearing, perhaps?

"It vould help if you took zhis seriously," he snapped. Sulu quirked an eyebrow, a hint of bemusement showing on his otherwise lax countenance. He leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing Chekov's scrunched poster and disgruntled expression for a moment. On his part, Pavel could see the gears turning in Sulu's mind and the exact moment he finally realized that, yes, Chekov was being completely serious about something, was genuinely on the brink of a concern-induced explosion of sorts, and came to the conclusion that it would be best for both parties to offer some attention to the curly-haired teenager.

"Alright, Chekov. Start from the beginning."

Chekov needed no urging. He was bursting with the details of Spock's mysterious, sudden transformation, and they spilled out onto Sulu's listening ears. He at least had the decency to appear somewhat concerned at the start of the tale, but the further Chekov progressed, the more pleased Sulu seemed to get. When it came to the point of him _laughing_ into the palm of his hand at the end of the account, Chekov lost himself to the smoldering bewilderment and aggravation brought about by Sulu's strange reactions.

" _Vhat's so funny?"_ he all-but-shouted, throwing his arms into the air. His accusatory glare apparently wasn't as intimidating as he had thought it to be, because Sulu's laughter only increased.

It was a solid seven seconds before he was able to regain his composure enough to formulate an answer without gasping or succumbing to another onslaught of giggles.

"Chekov…There's nothing wrong with Spock."

"Zhere's _nozhing_ …you obwiously don't know Mr. Spock as vell as Uhura and I do, Sulu. He's a _Wulcan_ , Sulu. Zhey don't… _do_ zhings like zhe zhings he's doing now."

"No, Pavel." Sulu was shaking his head, smiling at himself in an infuriating new way that made it seem like he was observing the antics of a toddler, "You and…who? Uhura, you said? Anyway, you've got it all wrong. The problem here isn't Spock. It's _you_."

Chekov had originally come to Sulu in hopes of some answers. Now he was even more lost than what he had been at the start.

"And vhat's _zhat_ supposed to mean?" He asked sharply.

Sulu didn't respond right away. Instead, he stood up, stepping back and pushing the chair underneath the tabletop in one smooth, connected series of movements. Then he put himself toe-to-toe with Chekov, hands coming to rest lightly on the boy's shoulders. And through it all he was still smiling, big and bright while looking ridiculously composed; he hadn't _stopped_ smiling since Chekov's unexpected appearance.

 _He hadn't stopped smiling._

It was a little detail that anyone else would probably have waved off as insignificant in the grand scheme of things. After all, shouldn't Chekov be more focused on getting the normal Spock back?

But it was a detail that, try as he might, Chekov couldn't dismiss once he had fixated upon it. In fact, he was so distracted by it that he barely registered that Sulu had begun talking to him again.

"You, Uhura…anyone else," he was speaking in earnest, the only hitch in his otherwise easy posture, soft smile, sparkling eyes, and velvet-frosted words, "You just can't hope to understand."

"Understand _vhat?_ " There was more than suspicion in Chekov's question. "Understand" seemed to be a famous phrase this evening.

"Spock understands," was the response he received. Sulu bowed his head and stared at his shoes. "Spock understands," he whispered once more as if to savor the meaning.

Chekov shrugged out from under Sulu's light touch. There was something wrong. These words, that unnaturally bright smile and careless air that surrounded his roommate…he'd seen all this before. Of course, the last set of circumstances had been slightly different. It had happened underneath a tree not more than ten minutes ago, and the infected individual had been a Vulcan – a member of a proud and mighty race – suddenly reduced to a carefree clown of sorts.

 _Infected_. Chekov grimaced at the ugly aftertaste that accompanied that word. But it was a new thought process, a new direction to take this mystery. His mind leapt to tackle this possibility, to try and determine what on earth both Spock and his roommate could've come in contact with to bring about such a change. If Sulu _had_ been changed, that is, which seemed a more likely scenario by the second.

Something shifted in Sulu's expression as he examined Chekov. He moved back to the microscope, movements deliberate and smooth, and lifted a small test tube above his head. Holding it to the glow of the lab lights, he tapped the glass container, shaking the white substance within. Then he locked eyes with the teenager.

"Let me help you understand, Chekov."

 _Wrong._

 _Wrong, wrong, wrong wrong wrongWRONG._

Chekov had wanted answers. He'd wanted another opinion, a new pair of eyes to catch any missing puzzle pieces that he and Uhura may have glossed over.

Sulu's smile radiated transcendent bliss. "Professor Dwight understood; she helped me to understand. Professor Liden understands now. Spock understands. Let me help _you_ , Pavel. You won't regret it, I promise." His eager expression, overcast with a faint shadow of what appeared to be true concern, as if he really cared more about Chekov's well-being than anything else in the world, was acting as the velvety padding to cushion the sharp reality behind his words.

"We could make them all understand, Pavel. Don't you see?"

He began to advance with small steps. Chekov mirrored his movements by sliding backwards, one foot directly behind the other. He didn't _want_ to see. Didn't want to be turned into a stupidly-grinning shell of a human being. What part of this did Sulu think of as OK?

Redundant question. Sulu obviously had convinced himself that this was such a pleasant turn of events that it needed to be continued. Spread.

Just like an unknown and utterly frightening infection.

And Pavel Andreievich Chekov was the perfect candidate for this newborn pandemic. Apparently.

"Once you see, once you come 'round, it all becomes so clear," Sulu was talking again. A dreamy haze dripped from his words, making everything he uttered sound like a litany. His gaze flitted to the ceiling as if he were transfixed upon a heavenly apparition. "And it doesn't have to stop here. It can go on. The rest of the world, Pavel! Think of it! We'll make them all understand. Once they see, they won't be frightened. Not ever."

Sulu's words were directed at Chekov, but his attention was fixated on the test tube in his hands. He was uncapping it with a slow fascination that only needed the added touch of dramatic music building up in the background. For Chekov, the tension was marked only by the thundering of his heart in his throat. Almost against his will, his focus was drawn to the contents of the tube.

He had no plan of action, no blinding flash of inspiration. All the little Russian cadet had at his disposal was a pathetic swirl of confusion and concern and the first inklings of true fear.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"What story are we even telling anymore?" Kirk felt pressed to ask. Tension had leaked from Chekov's words and permeated the Bridge's atmosphere. Spock was perfectly erect and unmoving, eyes fixed on the back of the ensign's head. Bones, too, was standing straighter than usual. There was nothing but the slow intake of breath, the shifting of fabric as an arm was moved and controls were changed._

 _"Why are you interrupting?" was Uhura's clipped response. "This is the part where Chekov punches Sulu in the face."_

 _ **"What?"**_

 _"Actually, I zhink it vas more of_ _ **Sulu**_ _punching_ _ **me**_ _," Chekov clarified. "And it vasn't so much him punching me as it was him zhrowing me against tables."_

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

To reiterate the obvious, Chekov didn't have a plan. What he _did_ have was genuine distress at Sulu's drastic change and apprehension for the white dust in the test tube. The test tube which was being opened by Sulu and which was, in the curly-haired cadet's opinion, too close to his own face for comfort.

Well. Sulu was practically asking for it, wasn't he?

With nothing else to go on, no other direction to go in, no other half-baked flash of brilliance, Chekov decided to execute the first thought that came to mind.

So when Hikaru extended his arm towards his roommate, open test tube aimed at Chekov's exposed face, Pavel's instinctive move was to meet these actions half-way. He grabbed the tube, pulling it easily from Sulu's grasp. Then, while Sulu was standing there, temporarily frozen with confusion and surprise, Chekov flew from one end of the lab to the back wall. He hovered over the bubbling liquid for an instant before yanking it off the heat and exposing the Bunsen burner underneath. Some of the experiment (a thick, brown substance with the consistency of pudding) splattered onto the front of his outfit, and he coughed at the acrid smell that rose up to meet him.

A quick twist of the wrist was all it took. The particles spilled out of the tube, eagerly licked up by the shivering blue flames. They vanished in a plume of greyish smoke.

Dead silence filled the room, almost as if all the noise had been burned away with the spores.

Chekov finally thought to release the breath he had been holding for the past long seconds. He was still facing the burner, transfixed by the flickering tongues of fire. Then came the voice, quiet, strained, and stretched thin.

"What did you just _do_?"

It wasn't the easy lilt that Chekov had been forced to listen to for the entire conversation thus far. It was an ugly, choking sound, as if Sulu's words were sticking in his throat.

Slowly, oh-so-slowly, Chekov rotated on his heels. His vision tunneled to focus on the pained expression that had taken over his roommate's features. Sulu's mouth was twisted into a grimace; his fingers were curled into tight fists and his whole body seemed to tremble with tension.

What happened next was a flurry of motion that neither had entirely expected nor were able to really follow afterwards. One moment they were standing apart, facing each other in an intense stare-down. Next thing Chekov knew, he was being thrown back against the table, his back digging into its cold metal. Fingers gripped his left shoulder; a balled fist took a swipe at the teen's exposed face. If Chekov hadn't had the foresight to duck at the last second, his nose would've been spurting blood. He wriggled out of Sulu's handhold and slipped under his outstretched arm. Hikaru tracked his movements with an accuracy and agility that was not altogether surprising.

It was no secret to the Russian teen that Sulu had certain unique hobbies. Years of dancing behind a blade was certainly giving him the advantage in this particular scenario.

Sulu was dancing now: his joints moved to a calculated rhythm, a steady pulse. He twisted to follow Chekov's escape route, aiming another punch. Chekov didn't shy away this time. His hand clamped down on red fabric; he kicked out, viciously, at Sulu's kneecaps. Incredibly, he must've struck his target based on the strangled yelp that came out of Sulu's mouth and the way they both crumpled to the ground.

Now, Chekov hadn't necessarily been expecting either of those reactions. He also hadn't been expecting how short his roommate's recovery time would be.

He found himself staring into Sulu's eyes. They were wide, manic. His breath was coming in labored pants and his body trembled with barely contained anger. Or was it fear? Either way, Chekov knew that he was royally done for. There was nothing he could offer against the experience of his opponent.

Well…except maybe one thing. The only possible (if not altogether rational) reaction to his current position, both literally and figuratively.

Chekov jerked his head forward and up. Sulu, still straddling the teenager and wheezing like some beast, didn't see it coming until after the startlingly loud _*CRACK*_ and the accompanying thrum of pain. He slid to the ground next to Chekov, moaning in agony and clutching his head. This would've been the perfect time for Chekov to make his getaway, but he was too wrapped up in his pounding skull to do much of anything but groan and roll back on forth on the tile.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"You all deserve detention," Jim noted. "Like, at least five different detentions."_

 _"I do not believe it is possible, nor part of academic regulations, to inflict more than one detention at a time for one individual," Spock interjected._

 _Jim shot an exasperated, squinty-eyed look at his first officer's station. He had gotten really good at knowing, just_ _ **knowing**_ _, when Bones was messing with him. Even if his expression stayed the same, even if Jim couldn't see McCoy's face at the time of said teasing, he could read his friend well enough by now to just sort of determine when Bones was horsing around and when he was being completely serious. Spock, on the other hand…_

 _…There were times when Jim really couldn't say._

 _Like right now._

 _Was Spock trying to correct him, or was he just being his dry Vulcan self specifically to annoy his captain? Jim wasn't entirely certain, but he definitely wouldn't put it past Spock to do something that petty._

 _"You all still deserve detention," he muttered._

 _"How could we deserve detention when we're not in school anymore, Jim?" Bones asked, leaning forward._

 _Dang it._

 _Spock_ _ **and**_ _Bones?_

 _How they managed to hear all of Kirk's mumblings with perfect clarity, Jim would never know. What he did know was that it was super annoying, and now would be the perfect moment to make them both shut up so they could finish the story._

 _"Shut up."_

 _Over his head, McCoy and Spock exchanged a glance and a raised brow._

 _"That was kind of rude, Jim."_

 _"Seriously, Bones?"_

 _Chekov followed the exchange from his seat, head turning to each person as they spoke. "Are we still telling zhis story?" he interjected._

 _"Yes." Jim raised his voice. "Yes, we're still telling the story. You can ignore the people trying to be rude and interrupt." He shot a glare in Bones' direction. The physician responded with a smile and a shrug. Spock, for his part, was definitely not smiling. At all._

* * *

 **Ah...gotta love triumvirate messing with each other. :D**


	9. Friends Don't Let Friends Inhale Spores

**Yeah...I don't have too much to say today.**

 **I hope everyone's doing well!**

 **OH!**

 **Wait.**

 **There's a fanfiction that y'all need to check out: _Do No Harm_ by  Aini NuFire. It has awesome Triumvirate stuff, Bones and Jim friendship, Jim and Spock friendship, some Bones and Spock friendship; Uhura being amazingly awesome and a healthy dose of Bones!angst thrown in there. It's incredible, well-written, and I highly recommend it.**

 **OK. That's all. Continue with your normal day.**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

 **ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

 **Sulu's POV**

* * *

Sulu was staring at the ceiling.

The bright haze of luminescent bulbs had dimmed within the space of an instant, and with his cleared vision came a sudden clearing of thoughts. Distantly, past the drumbeat someone had decided to start in his head, he was aware of another presence in the room. Now, if he could only recall _who_ …

Oh.

Fuzzy thoughts sharpened to clarity with a speed that didn't necessarily help his pounding head.

"…Chekov?" he managed to choke. Each syllable, it seemed, had been coated in syrup and it felt like his mouth had been filled with cotton balls. It was many things Sulu couldn't describe, but he knew with certainty that it was not a pleasant experience.

The response was a garbled groan on Sulu's immediate left.

"Chekov…" Sulu tried again. He propped himself on his arm, turning onto his side so he could see his roommate. "…What just…"

 _Oh._

Again, there was the rattling flash of realization. Memories of the past few moments shoved their way to the forefront of his mind.

"What happened?"

It was the only thing Sulu could think to say. He could clearly remember everything that had just happened: the short flurry between himself and Chekov, his own honeyed words. He recalled pouring over the microscope before Chekov had made his appearance, sending Professor Prius out of the lab with the two other plants and a wide smile on her face…

…The burst of white particles that had so-suddenly exploded in his face whilst he had been bending over the flower.

The dull throb in his head was the least of Sulu's discomforts. He dragged a hand down his face, trying to decipher the reason behind his behavior change. But his mind was raw and thoughts were disjointed, traveling far too slowly to be of any use at the moment. So he pushed all of the jargon to the side and focused on his surroundings, aka the disgruntled Chekov who was sitting up and brushing off his rumpled shirt.

"Are you alright?" It was possibly the worst thing to ask, but Sulu had nothing else. The unsettling sensation of being mentally sucked dry was, if anything else, more pronounced than a second ago.

Chekov's wary glance was not exactly comforting. He finished smoothing out some of the larger wrinkles before standing up. Then he skipped back a couple steps and fixed Sulu with a suspicious glare.

"Are _you_ alright?" He shot Sulu's words back at him like bullets (not that Sulu could really blame him). "Are you…yourself? Or are you going to try punching me again or putting spores in my mouth?" There was a slight pause. "…Or both?"

"Chekov…" All and any words died on Sulu's lips. There was nothing he could say to conveniently wave away what he had just done.

He had been aware. Completely, utterly aware of his actions.

He had _intended_ them.

If it hadn't been for Chekov's quick reaction, the whole scenario might have ended very differently. But Sulu didn't want to think on that, didn't want to touch that thought.

 _Focus. Focus on here and now._

"I'm…I think I'm back to normal," he said finally, which wasn't entirely true. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically; his head still hurt from Chekov's violent fighting techniques, and there was a nagging something in the back of his mind. He was pretty sure it was a warning or reminder or something like that, but it floated just out of reach.

Sulu shook himself back to the present.

Chekov was still staring at him, but he seemed less wary. He slid forward a few steps.

"Sulu… _Vhat_ …vhat was all zhat?"

Sulu pushed himself off the ground. Using the nearby table as support, he stood on wobbly legs and smoothed down his own shirt. His actions were deliberate; he kept his gaze averted while his mind pounded like pistons, trying to come up with a half-decent explanation.

"…I think it was the plants," came his response. Chekov's forehead and nose crinkled in confusion.

"Vhat's zhat supposed to mean?"

Sulu shrugged weakly and shook his head. "You and me both, Chekov. Heck if I know." He crossed the room to where the microscope still stood and stared down at it, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"That conversation," Sulu pondered aloud, his words slow and his gaze trailing the stars outside the large window, "was by far the most discomforting conversation I've ever had with anyone."_

 _"Zhe fact zhat nozhing you said actually made any_ _ **sense**_ _didn't help," Chekov supplied, almost as an afterthought._

 _Jim took this momentary lull to stand up and stretch his cramped muscles. His back *cracked* audibly as he twisted side to side; he made no effort to hide the grin at seeing McCoy's flinching at the sound._

 _"Do we have a chiropractor on board this tin can?" the physician mused out loud. "'Cause it sounds like you're overdue for your appointment, Jim."_

 _"I'm just_ _ **stretching**_ _, Bones. It's not like that's a bad thing. And as a doctor, wouldn't you prefer that to my back getting sore from sitting in one position all day long?"_

 _McCoy's response was a pointed glare. "Maybe if a sore back would keep you in one place longer than five minutes. Or I could let you keep doin' that, and when you're seventy and you try crackin' your back like that, you're gonna shatter somethin' and I'll have to confine you to a wheelchair for the rest of your life. Then maybe I'd get some peace."_

 _Jim stuck out a trembling lower lip. "You're so mean, Bones."_

 _"Yep." McCoy nodded in easy agreement with his friend's statement. Uhura, meanwhile, had taken on an almost-aghast expression._

 _"Jim and a wheelchair," she murmured._

 _Her words hadn't been directed to anyone in particular, but they were heard quite clearly by the ship's CMO. McCoy shot another look in Jim's direction, shuddering as the full horror of such a combination dawned suddenly on him._

 _Jim and a wheelchair._

 _What a horrendous- no. He wasn't even going there. He was_ _ **not**_ _going to think about it._

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

It didn't take much for all the pent-up thoughts to come pouring out, Sulu tripping over the details as he tried to make sense of what had happened. Chekov listened quietly, neither really meeting the other's gaze. Eventually, the stream of words slowed to a trickle, which was followed by a period of silence. Sulu was pacing back-and-forth, aggressively abusing his already-disheveled hair. Chekov was alternating between twiddling his thumbs and drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

"…So." Chekov was the one who finally spoke. "…Zhe…plants, or vhatever was in zhem… _zhat_ made you go…you know…crazy."

Sulu's response was a brief pause and an absent nod. Taking it as an invitation to continue, Chekov forged ahead.

"So…if someone _else_ started acting strangely…you know…doing all zhe zhings you vere just doing…zhen we could safely assume…uh…zhat zhey vere also affected by zhe spores, yes?"

That nagging _something_ jutted into the back of Sulu's subconscious, but he still couldn't remember for the life of him what important thing he was forgetting. And on top of that, he really didn't care. Where his mind _did_ go was to the mostly one-sided conversation instigated by Chekov right before Sulu decided to jump him. His thoughts replayed Chekov's description of Commander Spock's abrupt change, his insistence that such behavior _did not_ match the Vulcan's usual calm demeanor.

"Yep." He shot a meaningful look at the other cadet, communicating that yes, he understood the not-so-subtle jab that Chekov was making. "Whatever was affecting me is probably whatever happened to the professor…guy you were talking about earlier."

"So how do we fix it?" was Chekov's exasperated inquiry. "You vere crazy not too long ago. Now you're completely fine."

 _You and me both, Kid._ This was the very question that Sulu had been mulling over ever since he had been jolted back to his own right mind.

"It could've been the hit to the head." Sulu was pretty certain a similar scenario had happened in a movie or book or whatever. What's to say it couldn't happen in real life, too? But even as he said it, he knew that the violent tussle couldn't have been the cure his happy-intoxicated mind had needed. It simply wasn't reasonable.

Or was it?

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"So Sulu's having zhis whole inner monologue going on, right?" Chekov waved his arms emphatically about his head. "And I'm just sitting zhere, trying to zhink of somezhing to break the silence. Then he just sort of jumps up and leaves, and I'm just left zhere not knowing vhat zhe_ _ **heck**_ _is going on." He paused for breath. "Still."_

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

One moment, Chekov was stewing away in silence, trying to work up the courage to say something to get a conversation started. Next thing he knew, Sulu was throwing open the lab door and running to the nearest stairwell.

"Where's the professor?" His voice floated down the hallway and to Chekov, who had stuck his head through the doorway.

"Sulu!" Chekov grabbed his book-carrier and set out in hot pursuit of his roommate. Like yelling would help explain anything, he thought ruefully. At this point, he'd probably be better off trailing after Sulu and hoping to get some sort of summary of events only when the intoxicated Vulcan had been tracked down.

Speaking of Spock (or rather, thinking of him), Chekov was suddenly reminded of who had been left in the company of the Vulcan. He stuttered to a brief halt as his mind was overwhelmed with worrisome scenarios. Whatever Spock was going through, he could only hope that Uhura – his dear friend Nyota! – hadn't succumbed to the "understanding" that had nearly been forced upon himself.

 _But this was Nyota. Nyota Uhura,_ he reminded himself. Of anyone on this entire campus to _not_ worry about, it would be her. This comforting thought provided a much-needed boost of confidence. With renewed vigor in his hopping strides, he headed towards the elevators.

Unbeknownst to the Russian cadet, Sulu was, at that very moment, encountering his own unexpected buffer. The prodding _something_ that had thus far escaped realization suddenly threw itself at him with shattering force, and he nearly tripped over his own feet as he came to both a literal and figurative halt.

 _Professor Prius._

 _Professor Prius had come to help him with his studies on the plants. He hadn't been the only one in the lab when the flowers exploded spores everywhere._

 _And now Prius was wandering around the campus with two of the plants._

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_

 _"Ooooh!" Jim was excitedly squirming in his seat. "I know about this part! This is where I got involved again!"_

 _"Not quite yet," Sulu responded with a head shake and finger waggle aimed at the captain, "We can't miss the part where I'm awesome and save everyone."_

 _Uhura snorted._

 _"Don't you think you might be exaggerating your roll just a_ _ **bit**_ _?" she shot across the Bridge. Chekov's mouth formed a little "o" and he glanced quickly back-and-forth between Sulu's and Uhura's stations._

 _"I'm not even going to dignify that question with a response," came the answer. Sulu twisted his chair around slowly and glared in the general direction of the communications station for several long moments. Then, just as slowly, he turned back towards his controls._

 _"Anyway…" he drew out, "Now I'm suddenly faced with two problems at once: a compromised Vulcan professor, and a compromised Science Professor who's got two plants, locked and loaded and ready to be used on any unsuspecting civilian. Of course, Prius would've been the prime target, but I needed to test my theory for a cure first. So Spock became first priority._

 _"Keep in mind, I had no idea what was really going on (still) and wasn't sure if I_ _ **really**_ _had a cure figured out. So it was either succeed with my plan, or have the whole campus become zombified."_

 _/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/_


End file.
